


I'd Find You and I'd Choose you

by JGoose13



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Antique Shop Owner Ben Solo, Antique Shop Worker Rey, Ben Solo's stupid attractive face, Brief mention of suicide attempt, F/M, Finds some shocking photographs in the attic, I'll add actual relevant tags as I update, Infant Death, Is Ben an immortal highlander??, Mentions of Death, Rey inherits a Victorian, There Can Be Only One!, mentions of child death, miraculously healing cuts, peculiar mole placements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23601181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JGoose13/pseuds/JGoose13
Summary: Written for reyloise for the Writing Den's Anniversary 2020 Exchange:Rey Niima unexpectedly inherits a house from Lor San Tekka who, along with his wife, fostered her for a time as a child. In order to keep their legacy and light alive, Rey moves in.As she begins to pick through the life of this couple, Rey makes a shocking discovery in the attic. What's worse? The discovery involves her boss, Ben Solo, a man she absolutely abhors.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 31
Kudos: 181
Collections: Anniversary Fic Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reyloise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reyloise/gifts).



> **reyloise's prompt** : Rey inherits a house when a distant relative passes away. Exploring the attic she comes across a collection of old photos. But if these were taken a century prior then why does the couple throughout the album look exactly like her and Ben Solo, a man she absolutely hates.
> 
> Title is borrowed from a quote in Kiersten White’s novel _The Chaos of Stars_.
> 
> I hope you don't mind that I took a few liberties with the prompt. Most of all, I hope I do it justice and that you enjoy it!
> 
> I made a moodboard for you. I also hope you don't mind that I used one of the manips you made. If you do mind, just let me know and I'll remove it!

“I’m sorry… are you sure you have the right number?”

“Um, yes? This is Miss Rey Niima of Chandrila, correct?”

“Yes, this is she, but I can’t-- You’re _sure_ you have the right number?”

“I had to dig for your number, but I _believe_ I do. You knew a Mr. Lor San Tekka, right?”

“Yes, he… he and his wife were my foster parents for a while when I was younger.” 

“Then yes, you are the Rey Niima of Mr. Lor San Tekka’s will. As I said before, he has bequeathed you his entire estate, which includes his house and accounts.” 

“He… he didn’t have other family members to inherit?” 

“No, ma’am. He did have some great-nieces and nephews but none he was particularly close to.”

“You’re sure? This isn’t… this isn’t a prank?” 

“No, ma’am. You can look up my law office, if you wish. I’m Dopheld Mitaka of Mitaka and Associates. I was Mr. Lor San Tekka’s personal attorney, and he was very clear in his will that everything he had, he wanted to leave to you. Perhaps you could come by my office today around 4 p.m. so we could sign some paperwork to transfer everything to you?” 

“Um… uh, yes, of course. Sure. I’ll-- I’ll be there.” 

“Great, see you at 4!” 

Rey Niima held her cell phone away from her ear as if suddenly it had turned into a venomous snake ready to strike. She stared at the black screen with shock, awe, and disbelief. 

“Were you on the phone?” Came the deep, baritone voice of her employer. Rey’s hazel hues fluttered shut, steeling herself for what she knew would come. 

“Yes, Mr. Solo,” she replied as evenly as she could.

“Miss Niima, you know my policy on personal phone calls while you’re on the clock.” 

Rey turned around to where Mr. Benjamin Solo stood in the doorway of the back office. He wore a disgustingly well fitted three piece suit, dark in color, of course. 

She had been standing at the front counter when her phone rang. Normally, she wouldn’t have engaged the call, but instinct convinced her to pick it up. 

“Yes, Mr. Solo, I know, my apologies--” 

“Then _why_ were you just on your phone?” Mr. Solo barrelled on, as he always did. His hands rested in the pockets of his dark slacks, leaning casually against the doorframe of his office.

Rey absolutely hated how _good_ he looked. With his stupid hair, and his stupid plush lips, and his stupid sultry eyes.

Rey also hated how _antagonistic_ he was to her.

“Again, _forgive me_ , Mr. Solo, but it appears I have inherited a house,” Rey replied, teeth gritted. 

Mr. Solo faltered, straightening to his full, massive height. Rey was not a short woman, but beside Mr. Solo she might as well be. 

“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, at least having the decency to look somewhat sheepish at his assumptions. 

“Thank you. I know you don’t like for me to leave early, but I have an appointment with the lawyer today to sign some paperwork. At 4. May I please be permitted to leave at 3:30?” 

“Of course. Make sure you clock out when you leave. I’m not paying you to run personal errands.” His hands, as massive as the rest of him, left his pockets. Mr. Solo combed one through his dark hair as he turned. “Oh, and I will expect you to make up the missed time…”

~*~

Rey had worked for _Padme’s Books and Antiques_ for a year now. Despite her intense desire to tell her boss to fuck off, she just couldn’t bring herself to quit. She absolutely adored working with the antiques, and had learned so much of history and craftsmanship. Their regular customers were always a treat to meet and interact with as well, and everyone of them had a fascinating story. 

However, Mr. Solo had been rather hostile to her since she walked through the door for her interview. The heartless man criticized her every move, what she wore to work, and _never_ let her handle the ‘ _Books_ ’ part of the shop. Mr. Solo valued his rare book collection too much to let Rey put her inexperienced hands on them. Never mind that she majored in Archival Studies.

Honestly, why had the man hired her in the first place if he’d taken such an instant dislike?

Rey probably should’ve taken that job at city hall cataloging the town’s archives… 

_What keeps you going back?_ Her best friend, Finn Storm, would ask.

Rey’s lips would part, but the answer would not come. 

_Why did she go back?_

She had a shitty boss, the pay and benefits probably weren’t the most she could make with her qualifications, and keeping a shop of _antiques_ spotless of dust was _killer_.

Because, of course, Mr. Solo would expect nothing less of his fine establishment.

Google Maps broke Rey from her thoughts, instructing her to take a right just as she was on top of the turn. 

Rey jerked the wheel of her tried and true Subaru clunker, wincing when the undercarriage scraped the apron of the entrance to the parking lot. 

The law office of Mitaka and Associates occupied a suite in a new industrial park near the center of the city. As Rey entered the building, she greeted a security guard seated at a desk, who then gave her directions to her intended destination. 

As Rey made her way towards the back, she could smell the lingering scent of fresh paint and drywall, hallmarks of a newly built building. She soon found the double glass doors with the law office’s name emblazoned across the panes. 

Stepping into the suite, Rey took notice of the decor, their attempt at tranquil. The paintings looked as if they had come from a T.J. Maxx, not that there was anything wrong with that. The furniture in the waiting area was straight from an IKEA catalogue, which gave the place a modern chic vibe. 

“How can I help you?” A friendly middle aged woman said, beckoning her forward to the glass partition she sat behind.

“Yes, hi, I’m Rey Niima. I’m supposed to meet with Mr. Mitaka at 4.”

“Great, I will let Mr. Mitaka know you’re here. Have a seat, and I’m sure he’ll be right with you.” 

Rey did not sit long before Dopheld Mitaka appeared from behind a closed, wooden door. She wondered if this suite was meant to be more of a doctor’s office than a law office. 

“Miss Niima?” 

Dopheld Mitaka was in his mid-thirties, probably still a fresh faced lawyer. He had carefully slicked back his short dark hair, and his eyes were dark and watery. 

Rey stood and shook his offered hand, and exchanged a bit of small talk as he brought her back to his office. Mr. Mitaka offered her a seat in front of his desk, and she sat, smoothing her skirt. 

The next hour and a half was as mind-numbing as one would think. There was a lot of copying down Rey’s information and verifying she was indeed Rey Niima. Her left hand hurt from all of the signing and initialling and initialling again, and again, and again, and then signing some more. 

When the last ‘i’ was dotted, Mr. Mitaka held out a large, brown envelope sealed with a brad and tape for good measure, and a regular file folder with copies of all of the paperwork, along with his business card.

“There may be a few more forms you will have to sign once we get things squared away with the banks and putting Mr. San Tekka’s accounts in your name, but… that envelope is yours. In it are keys to the house, the deed, and a few other documents. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mitaka. I didn’t really know what to expect with all this, and to be honest it still doesn’t feel real, but… thanks for making it seem seamless.” 

Dopheld waved Rey off as they both stood. He escorted her back to the front of the office. The waiting area lights had been turned off except for a few ceiling fixtures. The receptionist had locked up for the evening and gone home. 

It struck Rey in that moment that she could also go back home to her depressing little apartment, _or_ she could throw caution to the wind and pay a cursory visit to the San Tekkas’ house. 

“Have a great evening, Miss Nimma. I’ll be in touch in case there’s more that needs to be done.” 

Rey shook Dopheld’s hand again, and left the office. Once behind the wheel of her old Honda, Rey sat, taking another moment to process. She held the brown, sealed envelope up, contemplating opening it. 

With a sigh, Rey rested her head back against the seat.

_Why had Lor San Tekka left her his house?_

She had not spoken to the man or his wife in years, though they had exchanged the odd email conversation. She knew Lor’s wife, Elizabeth (Beth, for short), had passed about five years ago. When she had attended the funeral, she had thought he wouldn’t be much longer for this world. 

Lor and Beth had been the epitome of a couple in fierce love. Like something out of a fairy tale about true love and soulmates. 

Though they had tried for years, the couple had never been able to conceive a child. The San Tekkas turned to another option: adoption. Before deciding to fully commit, they had opted to foster.

Enter Rey Niima.

Rey was ten years old when her case manager brought her to the San Tekkas’ house. She remembered how it smelled of fresh baked bread and cookies, and how kindly the older couple treated her. 

She lived with them until she was fourteen. 

At that point, Beth had been ill for months, and ultimately diagnosed with breast cancer. As much as they wished, the San Tekkas couldn’t keep Rey during those trying times. 

Rey later learned Beth had beaten the disease, but by that time she’d ended up in another home across the city. When she was in high school, she would scrounge for bus fare to visit once a month, just to check up on them. Beth would feed her until she burst, not that Rey could complain. The foster home she was in until she graduated high school was… less than ideal. She hadn’t looked back when she left Unkar Plutt’s house, that’s for sure. 

Rey didn’t know how to process any of this. The San Tekkas had meant a lot to her, more than anyone else had during her childhood. They had clearly valued her presence in their lives more than she thought, otherwise they wouldn’t have passed everything to her. 

After a steadying breath, Rey’s fingers ripped open the envelope and then peered inside. 

Sure enough, there were multiple keys, an official looking document, and a smaller, white envelope. She reached in for that first, finding her name written across it in a neat scrawl. 

_Rey Niima_

_(Open When In The House)_

Setting aside the white and brown envelopes, decision made, Rey turned over the engine and headed across town. 

~*~

The exterior of the house looked just as Rey remembered it, though with a fresh coat of pine green paint and a new, crimson red door. The house was heavily Victorian in style, leaning somewhere between Italianate and Second Empire, but also something one of a kind. 

The house was asymmetrical, with the main entrance on the front right side, with a porch that wrapped around towards the back of the house. On the left front side, double bay windows on both the first and second floors afforded residents a fantastic view. Around the left side of the house was a brick chimney. Rey remembered many a cold night sitting close to the fireplace. The roof was angular and flat, with a small dormer window signaling a third, but not quite full, floor which made up attic space. As far as other exterior embellishments of the Victorian-variety, the San Tekka house lacked the ornate in favor of something more plain but still wholly elegant.

The front lawn had always been neatly manicured. Beth had cherished the flower bushes that lined the front and sides of the house. It seemed that since her death, they had wilted somewhat. The fenced-in backyard would have been the perfect place for children and a dog to roam free, but instead, Beth had tended to a sprawling garden of flowers, vegetables, and fruits. 

The house looked desolate and bleak with no lights on. Swallowing thickly, Rey forced herself from her car and up the walkway to the front door. Sliding in the key, she turned the deadbolt, then the bottom knob, and let the door swing inward. It creaked ominously on its hinges, but nothing terrifying popped out at her. 

Sucking in a steadying breath, she stepped in. Rey swung her hand out, rooting out the light switch on the wall near the door frame. Her fingers slid over plastic, finding it the switch. The foyer illuminated, proving not much had changed on the inside either. Slowly, Rey stepped further in, enough to close and lock the door behind her. She stilled, listening.

There were no sounds other than the _tick-tock_ of the grandfather clock three feet away, nestled beneath the staircase. She could hear the distant yell of sirens, as well as an air conditioning unit rumbling to life. 

Rey wandered from room to room, taking in her surroundings. Indeed, the San Tekka homestead had not changed much since she last visited. Even the combined scent of aging house, cologne, and something floral had lingered. 

It made Rey smile. 

To the left of the foyer was the great room, with the giant bay window and a fireplace that had been the gathering spot during the evening. Lor would read a book and Beth would play with Rey. There was a couch, a loveseat, and Lor’s old, ratty armchair. When Rey lived in the house, there had never been a television, but it seemed Lor had indulged himself in a flat screen some time recently. Through an open archway was the formal dining room, where they would eat their meals. And further back was the kitchen that used to be filled with the delicious aromas of Beth’s cooking. One could also reach the dining room and kitchen through a short hallway off the foyer.

Despite the fact the exterior lacked typical Victorian embellishments, the interior did indulge in some of the finer characteristics of the style. There were beautiful stained glass fixtures (including the curved transom window over the front door), a gorgeous (but fake) crystal chandelier in the dining room, chair railing, floral pattern wallpaper, hardwood floors, fancy crown molding around the ceilings, wainscoting, and high, coffered ceilings. 

The steps creaked as Rey ascended the first flight of stairs. She took an immediate left to follow the landing, and continued up the next flight, flicking on lights as she went. 

Upstairs was the master bedroom with the second beautiful bay window and an attached bathroom. There was also a hallway bathroom, the bedroom Rey had slept in, and an extra bedroom that never got much use. 

Rey wandered around, marveling. It’s as if someone had pressed pause on the house while the San Tekkas were out. All the furniture was still there, some fabulous antiques Mr. Solo would love to have in his shop, and a few newer pieces. It was eerie seeing Lor’s bathrobe laid strewn across his bed, as if he would return for it soon. 

It was a true wonder that this couple felt Rey deserved any of this. 

Truly, the thought astounded her. 

How could anyone believe her worthy enough of such a gift? 

And this truly was a gift. 

Dopheld had spoken about her options. She could keep the house, hold an estate sale, and so on. But after walking around, remembering all the fond memories and happy moments within these walls, Rey realized there’s no way she could sell this house. She felt it her solemn duty to preserve what she could of the San Tekkas’ legacy. She owed it to them and to their memory. No couple could have been more giving or welcoming to her. 

Bounding back down the stairs, Rey remembered the white envelope she had shoved in the back pocket of her slacks when she got out of the car. She slowed down the last few steps, then sat back on one and grabbed the letter. Her finger made quick work of ripping through the seal, and she rushed to pull out the paper. 

_January 12, 2019_

_Dear Rey,_

_I can only imagine what you are thinking right now. The shock, the curiosity, but probably most of all… the utter confusion._

_Why in God’s name did these old farts leave me their house?_

_The four years we spent with you were the best four years of our lives, Rey. You were such an adorable, precocious girl of ten when you came, so full of life, wonder, and despite your circumstances, so much love. Beth and I talked for years after we had to give you up about how if we had been fortunate enough to have children of our own, we would have wanted them to be just like you._

_Yes, they may have been four short years, but to us, it was a lifetime of happiness with the child we could never have. When you left, we were never the same. Beth’s health improved, but I am convinced what finally took her from me was a broken heart. And that is what will no doubt take me when I die._

_Though we haven’t spoken much in the past five years, I have kept tabs on you as much as possible. I was proud to hear of you attending college. You always were such a smart cookie. I hope your life has unfolded as you want, and that you can accept this house and our assets and put them to good use._

_You may do with the house what you will, though I would say that this old man’s wish is to see it lived in again, preferably by someone who has lived in it before and loved it as much as we did. I know some of the furniture is impractical, but I couldn’t bear to part with it after Beth passed. She had loved those pieces. Sell whatever you want! You have my full permission. I trust you and your judgement. Hell, get a roommate if you need to! The mortgage has been paid for years, so it’s all upkeep and taxes. That’s where they get you, of course, those damn taxes. I digress…_

_Rey Niima, you are truly as your name says: a ray of sunshine that brought joy to our lives. I just hope that we brought some joy to yours, dear girl._

_Fondest Regards,_

_Lor San Tekka_

Rey reached up to brush away the errant tears falling down her cheeks. She neatly folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. 

The grandfather clock chimed 6:45 p.m.

Rey stood, tucking the envelope back into her pocket, more resolved than ever. 

She could do this. 

She could make this house as lively as she could. 

For Lor and Beth San Tekka, the kindest people she had ever had the pleasure of knowing. 

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, signaling an incoming text message. Yanking the offending device out, she groaned when she saw it was a message from her boss. 

> **< B. Solo> I trust you’ll come in early tomorrow to begin making up the time you lost today?**

Rey resisted the urge to throw her phone out the front door and onto the front lawn. Instead, she typed her reply.

> _Yes, sir, I will be in 30 minutes earlier to continue cataloguing the new items._

Rey hit the send button, her good mood slightly derailed. She groaned again when the phone vibrated. 

> **< B. Solo> That will be satisfactory. As would staying 30 minutes later.**

She opted not to respond, and instead shoved the phone back into her pocket, started turning out the lights, and locked up. 

On her next day off, she would come back and take inventory of everything. Luckily, the lease at her apartment was up in another month, perfect timing. 

And she would not let her boss’ heinous attitude ruin the moment further.

This millennial had managed to earn herself a gorgeous, Victorian home. 

_Thanks, Obama._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reyloise:
> 
> I'm glad you liked the moodboard! I'm not a whiz with them by any stretch. I use Canva as a crutch XD
> 
> I hope you enjoy Chapter 2, and that it is living up to expectations!

“Put that in the great room, please and thank you! I’m going to owe you guys so much pizza and beer after this.”

“Damn right!” Poe Dameron, one of Rey’s closest friends, griped as he and Finn set down a loveseat in the same spot as the one that used to be in the living room. Poe was an English professor at the local university and had met each other when Poe wandered into  _ Padme’s _ a few months back.   
It had been a month since Rey first discovered her inheritance. Since then, she had catalogued everything in the San Tekka household based on what she wanted to sell, what she wanted to donate, and what she wanted to keep. To her infinite surprise, Mr. Solo had been very amenable to buying the antiques off of her, affording Rey a nice little nest egg for any repairs that might crop up in the house.

Today was move-in day. Luckily, Rey didn’t own much to move. Per Lor’s suggestion, she had recruited Finn to be her roommate. Finn had grown up in the system too, that’s how they had met and became the best of friends. Rey knew Finn’s motivation behind agreeing to live with her was to ensure her safety, but she had overlooked the slightly sexist action in favor of having company in the large house.

“Where do you want this box?” Rose Tico asked, hefting a large parcel through the front door. Rey had met Rose in college, and now Rose taught science at Chandrila Middle School.

“Just set it in the great room for now, I’ll sort it out later,” Rey instructed, side-stepping out of her friend’s way as the dark haired woman carefully set the box on the floor. 

“I think we’ve only got a few more boxes,” Rose huffed and puffed, settling her hands on her hips as she surveyed the living room. 

“Thank God,” Finn sighed, collapsing onto the loveseat. 

~*~

Later that evening, with copious amounts of pizza eaten and a few cold brews imbibed, the foursome collapsed onto various pieces of furniture in the great room with Finn flipping through the television channels. 

“At least the guy had some taste…” Finn had commented upon seeing the sizable flat screen TV. 

Boys and their toys.

“Do you have to work tomorrow?” Rose asked. Both women had taken up a perch on Rey’s loveseat, slumped against the cushions, shoulder to shoulder. 

“Nope. I requested off today and tomorrow to get settled. The Beast  _ actually _ agreed,” Rey rolled her eyes. She took a swig from her beer bottle. 

“I still don’t get why you’re still working for him…” Rose mused. 

“Finn asks me that question at least once a month. I dunno…” Rey shrugged. “… I know it’s not ideal -- most of the time -- but I do actually enjoy it. It’s a good start.” 

“You  _ are _ getting experience putting together inventories and provenances,” Rose nodded. “That’ll be perfect if you ever want to switch over to museum work.” 

“Exactly.” Gotta look for the silver lining in everything. 

Another hour later, Rey and Finn kicked their friends out in favor of cleaning up and calling it a day. They stood on the porch and waved as Poe backed out of the driveway, taking Rose home. When Poe’s car disappeared around the corner, Rey and Finn stepped back inside and stood in the foyer for a moment, surveying. 

“This is an incredible house,” Finn said. “Thanks for asking me to be your roommate.” 

Rey grinned. “Even if I claimed the best bedroom in the house?” 

Finn heaved a long suffering sigh. “I can’t believe you would think that you, the owner, should automatically have dibs on the master bedroom. The nerve!”

Rey laughed, and swatted Finn’s shoulder. “How about this… you get dibs on first shower?”

“Deal.” 

~*~

Even after a relaxing warm shower and an exhausting day of hefting boxes and furniture, Rey found it difficult to sleep that night. It happened any new place she laid her head, a trait carried over from her days in the foster care system. Rey would need to grow used to the new sounds and new atmosphere. The creaking of the foundation and walls settling unnerved her, but only in the sense of the unknown. Rey recalled adjusting to living here the first time, and how it had actually taken less time to fall asleep than other foster homes she’d lived in.

It would be an adjustment period, but she would survive. 

The next morning, Rey awoke with the sun shining through the curtains of the bay window. It would be tranquil, if it hadn’t been a restless night. Forcing herself from the warmth of her covers, she pulled on her bathrobe and ambled downstairs, preparing a pot of coffee to brew. She knew Finn would be down momentarily, jetting off to his shift at the firehouse. Finn had always wanted to be a firefighter, and now he was one of Chandrila’s finest. 

As the machine percolated and the nutty aroma of coffee filled the kitchen, Rey gazed out the window over the sink, taking in the spring morning. The large plot where Beth had tended her garden was now overgrown with weeds. Rey had never been much of a grower, but the thought flitted across her mind to start some research on a garden. Something small to start. Beth would have liked that, she was sure. 

“Morning!” Finn greeted, bounding into the kitchen, sporting his station wear. Finn wore dark navy tactical pants with way more pockets than Rey would have need for, and a dark navy short sleeved button down ironed to within an inch of its life. He looked every bit the hero he was. 

“Morning,” Rey smiled. Finn rooted around in a box of essentials, finding his to-go thermos. He held it out, sheepish.

“Do you mind if I partake first?” 

“Oh God, no, here…” She reached for the thermos and picked up the freshly brewed carafe of goodness, pouring a good amount of the ambrosia of the gods into Finn’s cup. 

“Thank you, thank you. I promise I’m not going to take advantage because we’re roomies…”

“Oh please, as if I would let you,” Rey scoffed. Finn laughed, pouring a hell of a lot of cream into his coffee. “Want some coffee with that cream?”

Finn extended his middle finger, and Rey burst into laughter.

“I’ve gotta go. Let me know if you need me to pick anything up on my way home later.”

“Will do. Be safe,” Rey saluted, following Finn to the front door and waving him off. 

After enjoying her own coffee on the wrap around porch, Rey headed back inside to change and get to work. By the time lunch rolled around, she had emptied and dismantled a majority of the boxes. Not having many material things to your name was a blessing at times, because an hour after lunch, she had unpacked all of her things.

Rey then put her efforts to putting her own personal touch on the house. She examined one room at a time, dusting, while also shifting some furniture around. She had kept a lot of the San Tekkas’ larger pieces, such as the dining room set complete with sideboard and china hutch. There wasn’t much Rey wanted to change about the house, not wanting to completely erase the San Tekkas since the whole point was to preserve their memory. 

“Oh  _ shit _ !” Rey groaned. She had just finished changing out the curtains in her bedroom when she happened to look out into the hallway, the pull down panel in the ceiling reminding her there was a whole attic space. In her focus on the house, Rey had forgotten all about the attic.

She couldn’t begin to imagine what might be up there. 

Before embarking on that endeavor, she went in search of a flashlight, which she had unpacked earlier that morning. Artificial light in hand, she climbed the staircase. Reaching up, she pulled down on the string, carefully extending the folded ladder. Once she was sure it was stable, she climbed. 

The attic space was barely tall enough for her to stand comfortably. It extended the entire length and width of the house. The dormer window looked grimy. Rey made a mental note to bring some glass cleaner to take care of that. Dust and spiderwebs decorated the eaves and covered carefully draped sheets meant to protect the objects beneath. Once upon a time, the sheets had been white, but now were nearly black with dirt and dust. 

To Rey’s surprise and delight, the attic was not packed wall-to-wall with stuff. She carefully stepped around the objects, not wanting to crush anything. Looking up, she yelped, scaring herself stupid when her flashlight revealed a seamstress’ mannaquin. 

“Jesus…” Rey breathed. She’d lost a year of her life from that scare, no doubt. 

There were hat boxes filled with knick knacks, bins of holiday decorations, and a plethora of other things she would have to weed through. Luckily, it was out of the way of the main house, and Rey could take her time with it. 

Having walked the entire length of the attic, she turned to head back toward the ladder. Her flashlight swept over a chest. Something about it gave her pause. Rey stepped closer and knelt in front of it, swiping her palm across the top and the latch to get rid of a thick layer of dust. There were initials embossed on the chest. If Rey had to take a guess, she would say it was from the early 20th century.

_ K.S. _

Who was K.S.? And why did it seem like Rey had seen this chest before? Had she seen one like it at the shop?

Rey sat back on her haunches. 

Should she open it? Clearly K.S. wasn’t missing their possessions, otherwise it wouldn’t be covered in dust and in this attic. Surely K.S. wouldn’t fault Rey for her curiosity? 

Rey’s fingers carefully worked the latch, hearing the metallic  _ snickt! _ as it came free. She hesitated, suddenly awash in nerves, like whatever she would find in this chest would shake her to her core. Completely with a will of its own, her body changed into fight or flight mode. Her heartbeat accelerated, sweat dripped down her neck, and her hands shook a little. Despite the strange reaction of her body, Rey  _ knew _ she had to open it. 

Taking a deep breath, she pressed her fingers into a divot, and leveraged her arm up, throwing open the chest. 

No bats flew out. No spectral woman materialized to berate Rey for disturbing her belongings.

She let the breath she was holding out, and cautiously leaned forward. 

K.S. had filled the chest with  _ stuff _ . There was a bunch of turn of the century infant paraphernalia, including a rattle, a small china doll, and some moth-eaten baby clothing. Also in the chest was a wooden box, a burgundy cloche hat, and underneath it all, a larger garment box. 

Rey carefully moved the trinkets to the interior of the chest lid in order to wedge her fingers around the garment box and pull it free. Dust had not infiltrated the chest, which gave the box a nearly fresh look. The top of it came off easily, and Rey set it aside. The tissue paper inside had miraculously not disintegrated over time. Gingerly, she unfolded the thin scraps to reveal the stunning bodice of a dress. Getting her feet under her, Rey stood to pull out the garment, gasping as the fabric unfurled, showing off the rest of what Rey could only imagine was a wedding dress. The white, over time, had dirtied to off white. The lace that covered the gossamer gown was delicate. The dress had long sleeves and a high waist, with beading around the bodice. 

K.S. had to have made a beautiful bride. 

For now, Rey carefully tucked the dress back into the box and secured the lid. She would bring this downstairs with her. Mr. Solo had to know someone who specialized in the preservation of old gowns. 

Turning her attention back to the other contents of the chest, Rey examined each piece in turn, before returning it to the bottom of the chest. She saved the smaller wooden box for last, and as she reached for it, the nervousness she felt before returned with a vengeance. Handling the box as if it would explode in her hands, she set it gingerly on the floor, and settled her knees on the bare wood of the attic floor. Rey held her breath again before opening the lid. 

Nestled inside was a photograph album.

The cover was a heavy, cured black leather with curling designs of light gray. It was as beautiful as the dress, despite the fact that something wiggled deep in her gut. Something that made her nauseous but also expectant. Rey lifted the album from the confines of the box. She closed the lid, then balanced the album on top of the box. 

Another steadying breath, and she slowly flipped open the cover. Holding her flashlight aloft, the beam illuminated the first picture.

It was of two dark haired, cherubic babies, both with wide eyes and adorable chunky thighs.

Twins.

Rey turned to the next page, where on one side was a photograph of two young girls standing side-by-side in pretty dresses. On the other side were the same girls, only a little older. There was something oddly familiar about the picture of the twins on the right, older, maybe in their teens. Something in the set of their eyes, the darkness of their hair, the jut of their chin… 

The anticipation and nerves could not have soared any higher, yet Rey continued, flipping to the next page… 

… when she let out a blood curdling scream.

~*~

How she got down from the attic, Rey couldn’t recall. Somehow, she must have forced her legs to move, carrying with her the garment box and the photo album. 

There was no way she could have seen what she saw. 

It was impossible. 

To even entertain the idea was preposterous and absurd! 

The darkness of the attic and the dim illumination of the flashlight had to have played tricks on her eyes. 

Tossing the garment box onto the floor in her bedroom, Rey hurtled down the stairs, clutching the photo album tightly. Barging into the kitchen, Rey flung open the back door and burst onto the porch. The fresh air cleared her head a bit, and the late afternoon sun that shone on the porch would no doubt assuage her fears. 

Two steps spilled her onto the grass of the backyard. She sat back heavily, ignoring the spark of pain in her ass as she came down hard on the wood. Good. It was a good reminder this wasn’t a dream, that she was awake. When she opened the photo album again, she would definitely not see what her imagination had drummed up in the attic. 

Resting her heels on the bottom step, she set the photo album in her lap. Rey flipped to the first page again, meeting the eyes of the cute babies. 

Okay, so far so good. 

Rey turned the page again, meeting the babies’ eyes again, only in the face of their pre-teen selves. The other side was still the same twins, again older than the previous picture. In the stark light of the sun, a sense of familiarity hit Rey again. Bile gurgled in her stomach, threatening to rise… 

The dark haired girls looked familiar only because they looked  _ uncannily _ like Rey did in high school…

Her heart hammered wildly in her chest, blood rushed through her veins. Closing her eyes, Rey turned the page again. 

She cracked open a lid, then the next, and promptly let out a screeched before shoving the photo album to the ground. It skidded, sliding across the grass, further into the natural light. 

There was no way the cold light of day could play such an elaborate trick on her imagination. 

Rey tried so hard not to look at it again, but she was like a moth to a flame. 

Leaning over, she peered down at the photo album. 

Staring back at her was the spitting image of her face. In one picture, the woman, who Rey had surmised might be K.S. and also one of the twins, wore the wedding dress from the box, and did indeed look stunning in it. In another picture, the same twin (presumably) wore a light colored gown, and stood next to a handsome young man that was the dark to her light. 

The handsome young man was a dead ringer for one Benjamin Solo.

~*~

When Finn returned home that evening, he found Rey sitting at the small kitchen set, a cup of tea, long cold, clutched in her hand. 

“Hey…” He greeted, setting his bag down. “You okay?”

Rey turned as though now realizing Finn was back. 

“Oh… hello. How was your day?” 

Concern etched in Finn’s furrowed brow, he sat at the table with her. “Fine. Something tells me  _ you’re _ not fine…” 

Rey waved her hand at the open album in front of her. “Tell me I’m not crazy.” 

Finn glanced at the object she had indicated, sliding it towards himself for a closer look. Rey knew what he was seeing, watching his eyes pop wide in his head. She knew because she had spent all afternoon and all early evening staring at the pictures. Every single one of them. 

“What the hell is this?”

“Tell me I’m not crazy,” Rey repeated.

“You’re not crazy. These people look-- they look a hell of a lot like you and Solo,” Finn confirmed. Rey’s eyes fell shut in relief. She pushed the tea cup away to lean her arm on the table, pointer finger tapping at the worn album pages. 

“I found this in the attic. It’s authentic. Not photoshopped.” 

“Did you find anything that said what their names were?” Finn asked, meeting Rey’s gaze. She knew she must look crazed. She’d been running her hand through her shoulder length chestnut hair since she found the damn thing, and probably looked like a mental patient. 

“I found it in a chest. There were initials. ‘K.S.’”

“Are there records of who owned the house before the San Tekkas?” 

Rey nearly broke out into a grin. She could always count on Finn to keep a level head when she couldn’t. 

“There are no documents I’ve found anywhere in the house that would tell us,” Rey replied. “I suppose I could go to the library. Or city hall…” 

“You could ask Solo…” Finn hedged.

“ _ No _ ,” Rey shook her head. “Noooo way.”

“Why? Don’t like that a couple in the past looked  _ eerily _ like you and were married with a baby?” Finn teased, glancing for a brief second down at the black and white photograph of the happy couple smiling down at a newborn babe. 

Rey glared. 

“There is  _ no lifetime  _ where I would be married to Mr. Solo,” Rey shook her head again, as if trying to rid her head of such thoughts. “God no. No, no, no.” 

Finn looked from Rey’s face to the book and back again. “How about I make us some dinner. Take an early night, and we can solve this mystery later, okay?” 

Rey nodded absently, her eyes trained on something far away no one could see but her. Finn closed the album and set it aside. 

Sleep didn’t come for Rey that night either. She tossed and turned, getting herself tangled in the sheets. The photo album haunted her, even from its perch on the kitchen counter downstairs. 

It haunted her the next morning too, as she watched the sun rise through the curtains of the bay window. 

How was she going to work with Mr. Solo today knowing that that photo album existed? Without knowing  _ why _ it existed and what it meant? 

Once dressed and ready for the day, she met Finn downstairs. He had beaten her to the coffee, filling a thermos for her, and filling his. 

“Okay, how about we meet at the library after we get off work? When I got up this morning, I skimmed over their website. They have digital copies of the town archives, but they can only be viewed on their computers.” 

At least someone around here was of sound mind to make a solid plan. 

Rey nodded. “Okay. Be safe. I’ll see you later.” 

~*~

When Rey arrived at  _ Padme's,  _ Mr. Solo had yet to show. She got to work opening the shop for the day, preparing the register and credit card machine, and then got elbow deep into cataloguing some new acquisitions. Mr. Solo liked to attend estate sales over the weekends. Sometimes he required Rey to go with him, but most of the time he didn’t, for which Rey was thankful. 

The back door opened, security system chiming, signaling that Mr. Solo had finally deigned to grace her with his presence. As every morning, he came in with his briefcase and lunch, grunted a ‘morning’ to her, and disappeared into his office. Today, Mr. Solo wore a tweed jacket of all things, complete with elbow patches. 

_ How old fashioned could he be? _

The thought had Rey remembering the pictures in the album, and her heart began racing anew. She needed to get a grip. She couldn’t allow herself to get into even more of a tizzy around her asshat boss. She just couldn’t. 

“Miss Niima?” Mr. Solo’s deep voice jogged her from her mental pep talk. Rey spun around, taking in his tweed jacket and khaki slacks. 

“Yes, Mr. Solo?”

“Did you get the monthly expense reports compiled and printed like I asked?” Mr. Solo asked, something in his tone betraying that he expected her to answer in the negative. 

“Yes, Mr. Solo,” Rey replied, standing straighter. “They are in a folder on your desk.” 

Knowing him, Mr. Solo had simply dropped all of his crap onto his desk without noticing. He ducked back into his office, and a moment later he appeared around the door jamb again. “Got them.” 

That was it. 

No ‘thank you.’ No ‘good job.’  _ Nothing _ . 

The day moved slowly. Rey finished her administrative tasks, ran the Swiffer Duster around the problem areas of the shop, and even cleaned the windows. By the time she had done all of this, it wasn’t even lunch time yet. Sighing, she returned to the front desk. 

Mr. Solo did not particularly like if she used the computer for anything other than processing payments or researching a question from a customer. Mr. Solo also didn’t like it when she brought a book, or did a crossword puzzle, or really did anything to help pass the time when she’d finished her chores. 

Insufferable bastard. 

With nothing to occupy her mind, she began thinking about the photo album. She had tucked it in her shoulder bag in case they needed to consult it later at the library. Rey took it out now, careful to sit back away from his office door so he couldn’t see. For the next hour she studied the photographs, looking for anything that would explain this oddity from her attic. 

If K.S. had put together this album, they certainly loved filling it with pictures of the young man that looked too much like Mr. Benjamin Solo. One particular picture gave her pause. 

The picture was a semi-profile view of the young man’s right side from just below his shoulders and up. His lips turned upward ever so slightly, seeing something he liked. He wore what Rey would call a newsboy hat, a suit vest with suspenders over top a white button down, complete with an indeterminate color tie. For an old photograph, it was extremely focused and clear. 

Rey stared at that photo for thirty minutes, willing it to tell her its secrets. Instead, it only confused her more. She set the album down to have a turn around the shop, and then came back to her stool. Rey had to pass Mr. Solo’s office, and when she peered in, he was talking in hushed tones over the phone to someone. She climbed back onto the stool, and stared down at the photograph again. 

That’s when she saw it. 

This young man from some time period at least 100 years prior had the same spattering of moles across his face as Mr. Solo. That alone wasn’t what gave Rey pause on this photo. It was the pattern in which the moles on the right side of his face made. It reminded her of a constellation from an elective Astronomy class she took in college. She couldn’t place what constellation, but it was there, clear as day, on this man’s face. 

It just so happens that Mr. Solo, prick boss extraordinaire, had the exact same pattern of moles across the right side of his face.

Rey would know. She had stared enough and long enough to remember. 

Purely out of hatred, of course. 

God, she despised that man’s stupid face. With his stupidly adorable ears, and the aquiline nose, and those plush lips… 

Shifting from side to side, Rey closed the book with a dull thud and shoved it back into her bag. 

Could it be? 

What were the chances someone from the early 20th century had the exact same mole placement as her boss in this year of our Lord 2019? 

Rey’s heart began to beat at the implication. 

The chances were slim to none. It couldn’t be mere coincidence.

“Miss Niima?”

Rey squeaked and nearly fell off the stool. 

Mr. Solo had poked his head out of his office, calling her attention. His eyebrows furrowed, shooting her a wilting look. He didn’t bother to ask if she was okay. 

“I just got off the phone with Harold,” he continued, as if her gaff hadn’t occurred. “He’s pulling up to the back right now with an Edwardian desk.” 

He walked away, towards the rear of the store. That was his way of telling her he needed help, not asking nicely like a normal person. 

Rey sighed, and got to her feet, shaking away her previous thought of moles. 

There was  _ no way _ . She was mistaken. The patterns  _ couldn’t _ be the same. 

The mid-morning sun shone pleasantly down, and Rey basked in the glow. It often got chilly in the shop, so Rey savored her time in the warmth while she could. 

Mr. Solo and Harold, one of their longtime procurers, chatted for a bit. Harold had backed up his utility van towards the receiving door, making it easier for when they would take the desk out and inside the shop. 

Harold opened the double doors of the van, and Rey squinted, allowing her eyes to adjust to the shadows of the interior. The desk was absolutely gorgeous. She knew it would fetch a pretty penny. 

“Miss Niima,” Mr. Solo bid, again not asking. Rey stepped up to the back of the van, and reached for the desk as he did. Together, they carefully pulled it out and lowered it to the ground with Harold’s guidance. As Mr. Solo removed his grip, it must have slipped and caught on something sharp, because he let out a grunt of pain and all of a sudden there was blood. 

Instinct took hold and Rey rushed over, grabbing his palm to get a closer look at the injury. 

The gash wasn’t too deep, sliced right through the meat of his right palm. Probably deep enough for stitches. Looking back at the desk, she saw a couple of areas where he might have slashed his hand. One being a metal piece. 

“How long has it been since you got a tetanus shot?” She asked, concern etched in her brow. 

Mr. Solo yanked his hand back. “M’fine,” he muttered, examining the torn skin himself.

“You’ll survive, sure, but you should probably go to the ER for stitches. And maybe a tetanus shot.” Rey argued. 

“I said I’m fine, Miss Niima,” Mr. Solo bit back. This time, Rey’s brows further furrowed in frustration. She turned on her heel, heading into the shop towards the break room where there was a mini-fridge and a microwave. They kept a First Aid kit in there, though Rey hadn’t checked the contents of it since she started working there a year ago. She took the white plastic container and rushed back outside where Mr. Solo still cradled his hand. 

“Let me,” she ordered, setting the kit on top of the offending desk and once more grabbed his wrist. 

“Jesus, Rey, I’m  _ fine _ ,” Mr. Solo barked, and if it wasn’t for the slight underpinning of a whine, Rey would have let him be. 

_ Did he just use her given name? _

She held fast to his wrist, working to open the kit with her free hand and fishing around for clean gauze. Bringing a package to her teeth, she bit down to tear it open, then pressed the fresh bandage to the cut to staunch the blood. 

“Miss Niima this is wholly unnecessary,” Mr. Solo complained, back to formality, yet made no attempt to remove his wrist from her grip. Rey was strong, but he was stronger. He could easily free himself. The fact he didn’t shouldn’t have sent an arrow of heat into her chest. 

With the thumb of the hand gripping his wrist, she held the gauze down, while rooting in the kit for some antibacterial ointment. Yeah, she was going to have to update this kit. There were barely any bandaids, and definitely no ointment.

“Geez, boss, you sure you’re going to be okay?” Harold asked, having stayed clear of Mr. Solo. Rey had learned early on that Harold full on fainted at the sight of blood. Even just a drop. 

“I’ve got him, Harold. If you need to go, we’ll handle the desk from here, thank you.” 

Harold nodded, and accepted the out Rey handed him. He bid his goodbyes and peeled out of the back parking lot. 

“I don’t need you to nurse me,” Mr. Solo grumbled. “I’m fine. It was just a scratch. It’s probably already stopped bleeding.” 

“You and I have a different definition of what a scratch is,” Rey replied wryly. She managed to find a fresh package of gauze, having noticed that the one she had already pressed to the wound had bled through. Turning back to Mr. Solo, she paused, taking note of their current positioning. 

The way Mr. Solo stood, with Rey to his right side, afforded her a perfect view, in the natural light of the sun, of his right profile.

Damn if those moles didn’t form the constellation she couldn’t name. Just like the young man in her photo album. 

What did Rey  _ really _ know about her boss? 

Not much. 

She knew his shop was named for his beloved grandmother, which Rey had thought was sweet, until she learned the true nature of the doting grandson. She knew Mr. Solo had grown up in Chandrila, went to college at some point, liked peanut butter sandwiches for lunch, and wasn’t married. 

How had he gotten from the pages of the 100 year old photo album to this moment, flesh and blood, and very warm beneath her touch? 

Shaking herself from the maelstrom of her thoughts, she tore open the gauze envelope and pulled out the mesh. 

“Keep still,” she told him firmly, and he complied, much to Rey’s surprise. Removing her thumb, she pulled the soiled gauze away, and gasped. 

What once had been a significant gash now looked like no more than a paper cut. 

“I told you, Miss Niima,” Mr. Solo said, failing to keep the smugness from his voice as he pulled his hand away. “Just a scratch.” With that, he disappeared through the back entrance, probably to find a dolley to wheel in the desk. 

_ No _ . 

Rey knew what she had seen. That cut had been  _ deep _ . Deeper than a mere paper cut. And it had bled, a lot, evidenced by the red stained gauze in her hand.

It wasn’t humanly possible to stop bleeding that quickly, right? And it couldn’t be humanly possible for a man to heal that quickly…  _ right _ ? 

Rey packed up the First Aid kit to return it to the break room. She disposed of the bloodied material, and returned to the front desk in case of customers, letting Mr. Solo handle the Edwardian. 

The rest of the day passed quickly, Rey’s mind a mire of thoughts, trying to make sense of everything.

The moles. The miraculously fast healing wound. The photo album… 

At about 4 p.m., Mr. Solo informed Rey that he was ducking out early for an appointment. Rey had been tempted to ask if he would make up for  _ his _ lost time tomorrow, but managed to hold her tongue. 

As she watched his retreating form head for his car in the back parking lot, she couldn’t help but voice aloud to the empty shop the foremost question on her mind: 

“ _ Who are you, Mr. Solo? _ ”

~*~

After locking up for the evening, she climbed into her Subaru and headed into the center of town to the public library. Finn had already arrived, hard at work at a computer. 

“Hey,” he greeted absently when she sat at the computer next to him. 

“What, no microfiche?” Rey joked, setting her bag aside. 

“No… because thanks to the Chandrila librarians, everything is digitized. Can you  _ imagine _ ?” Finn scoffed, sarcasm dripping from his words. 

“Hey, don’t knock microfiche. I had to study a lot of those in undergrad.” 

Finn held up his hand, moving his fingers overtop of his thumb in the signal for too much talking. Rey rolled her eyes and leaned in to see his computer screen.

“I’ve been going through some documents about the San Tekkas. Haven’t gotten far enough back yet to find anything…” Finn informed her. 

Rey scanned the screen as Finn scrolled. She isn’t sure how long they sat there, looking through decade after decade of records. 

Finally, Finn worked his magic, pulling up something promising. 

“Holy shit, look at this…” He said in hushed tones. “… it’s a census for the town. I guess they used to do one every five years. In 1915, a married couple had just moved into the house. Their last name was…” Here, Finn trailed off, rigid tension pulling at his shoulders. 

“What?” Rey urged, bumping his shoulder to peer closer at the screen. She was too impatient to focus on what Finn was looking at. 

“… their last name was Solo.”

“Shut up!” Rey cried, forgetting for a moment where she was. Thankfully, there was no librarian close by to shush her. “ _ No _ , it doesn’t say that.” 

Finn pointed his finger to a spot on the screen. 

Sure enough, there was the familiar last name in an elegant, handwritten script:  _ Solo _ . 

Rey followed the line, noticing the address of the San Tekka house, and the names of the occupants. 

“Benjamin and Kathryn Solo,” she read, voice a whisper.

_ K.S. _

The friends sat in silence for a time, both racking their brains for some sort of explanation. 

“I mean… maybe this Benjamin Solo is your boss’ great-great grandfather or whatever,” Finn supplied. “And he was named for him? And their genes are suuuuper strong?” 

“Maybe? I can understand genes being strong. But with the generations removed between them and additions of other genetic material through marriage… seems unlikely, wouldn’t you say? My Benjamin Solo could be that Benjamin Solo’s  _ identical _ twin.” 

_ Wait,  _ my _ Benjamin Solo? Where had that come from? _

Finn shrugged. “I dunno, do  _ you _ have a better explanation?”

Rey thought a moment, a ridiculous notion springing to mind, especially after the events of the day at the shop. She chewed on her lower lip in thought, before stuttering through the incident with the desk, and telling Finn of the matching mole constellation. Finn looked stunned, and could not verify, as a trained EMT, that a cut could heal that quickly. 

“Have you ever watched that cheesy 80s movie,  _ Highlander _ ?” Rey suddenly asked.

Finn thought for a minute, then nodded. “Yeah, I vaguely remember watching it.” 

“The guy is an immortal. Not like a vampire or anything, just straight up undying. He goes around killing other immortals because there can be only one. What if Mr. Solo’s an  _ immortal _ ?”

Finn stared at her, wide-eyed, as if she’d grown an extra head. 

“You’re kidding me with this, right?”

What if she wasn’t? It seemed oddly coincidental to have a picture of a 1910s Benjamin Solo looking  _ exactly _ like a 2010s Benjamin Solo, complete with the exact same placement of moles. How could that happen? No one’s genetics were  _ that _ good. 

How else could a serious cut heal ridiculously, unnaturally, fast? 

Yes, the idea of someone being immortal is completely ridiculous and against the laws of nature, but the more Rey considered it, the more she couldn’t come up with any other explanation. 

The question was, though,… how could she prove it?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **PLEASE BE MINDFUL!**
> 
> I have added a very sensitive tag that may be a trigger to some. It involves infant death. It is mentioned, but I do not go into anymore detail.

The next morning, Rey prepared for work as if preparing for battle. She carefully applied her usual regimen of make up, picked a cute pair of flats, and wore a gray pencil skirt with a matching blouse. 

At the library the previous evening, Finn had managed to track down more information on the Benjamin Solo that had lived at the San Tekka house in the 1910s. There were other census years, information about Kathryn Solo (nee Randall), and something about an Alexander Solo. Rey had assumed Alexander Solo was the baby in the photo album, and she wondered what had become of him. Had he grown to have a family of his own? Who had a family of their own? Who birthed a son that looked exactly like Alexander’s father? 

Or was Rey’s preposterous theory true? 

Downstairs, Rey shoved the photo album and the papers printed from the library into her shoulder bag. Mr. Solo had said the previous day, before leaving early, that he would be late coming in to work. Perhaps the perfect opportunity for Rey to do some snooping. 

“Hey, don’t… don’t do anything crazy today, okay?” Finn urged her from where he sat at the small kitchen table, leisurely drinking his coffee. He had the day off, but still woke up at the same time and brewed them both coffee. Finn had even poured and prepared the sweet nectar in her travel thermos. Truly the best roommate. 

“What do you mean?” Rey asked, as innocently as possible. She wouldn’t say she would do anything _crazy_. Crazy wasn’t her style. 

Or maybe it was…

“Mhm,” Finn hummed, waving as she whisked out of the kitchen to head to her car. 

When Rey arrived at _Padme’s_ , Mr. Solo indeed had not yet arrived. 

_Perfect_. 

Rey began her opening procedures, flipping the open/closed sign and firing up the cash register. Once finished, she walked to the back door to peek out, making sure Mr. Solo’s car wasn’t pulling in. She then returned to the front where she looked out the glass. No sign of the man.

Emboldened, Rey scurried to the back right corner of the shop, the place Mr. Solo rarely let her get near unless it was to dust. 

The rare book collection Mr. Solo so treasured. 

Day one on the job, and he had been adamant she not handle the books. If a customer wanted to examine one, then she was to get him immediately. If he was not in the shop, then she would have to tell the customer to take his card and give him a call later. 

Hardly exemplary customer service. 

Why Mr. Solo held these books in such high regard, Rey had no idea. But since he was so protective over them, she wondered if they held some sort of secret. One that an immortal would not want found by mere mortals. 

_Jesus, she sounded like a loon_.

Looking left and then right, Rey approached the tall bookshelves. 

There were three, six-foot long bookshelves made of some type of dark wood lining the very back wall of the shop. They reached upward to the ceiling, and were built solidly to hold the heavy weight of the books. The entire shop smelled of age, but the smell strengthened near this corner. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell. In fact, Rey _loved_ the smell of old books. There was history in that smell. 

Rey knew she didn’t have much time, so she began pursuing the shelves on eye level. 

If she were an immortal, she might hide something precious to her in plain sight. Less likely to be found that way. What she might hide, she didn’t know, but that was why she risked life and limb now to search for Mr. Solo’s secret. 

The majority of the books were first editions: Dickens, Austen, poetry anthologies… name it, and it probably sat on one of the shelves. Most had titles on the spine, some did not because of wear. 

Nothing jumped out at her. Nothing screamed ‘ _here’s my secret!’_. 

Who was she kidding? 

Why would an immortal hide something in plain sight? In their store? Where anyone could walk in and grab it?

Rey only had the top shelves left to check. She pulled over the rolling ladder, and climbed. 

Again, not much extraordinary. 

She climbed back down to move the ladder over to the next shelving unit, only to find a lot of nothing. 

It was when her eyes slid across the top shelf of the last unit that she caught sight of a book.

Rey couldn’t explain why she felt she needed to look at that particular book, instead of one of the hundreds she’d already perused, but she scurried down the ladder all the same. After she slid it over and climbed again, she grabbed the small, leather bound book wedged between the last volume of Edward Gibbon’s titular work _The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_ and the side of the bookcase. 

She would estimate the book was about six inches in length. It had no title on the spin, nor did it have one when she peeled back the leather cover.

Curious. 

Safety in the workplace not entirely first in her mind, after Rey wavered backwards on the ladder, she climbed down and sat in a nearby armchair.

Carefully turning the next page, Rey was met with an elegant flowing script. Handwritten. In fact, the handwriting was awfully familiar. 

_To my love,_

_For you to put your incredible thoughts to paper._

_Perhaps you will write the next great novel._

_Yours, B_

_Interesting_ …

Rey flipped to the next page. The handwriting here was vastly different, Rey noticed, and the same throughout the remaining pages after quickly fanning through the rest. The handwriting wasn’t as beautiful as the first, but nonetheless still legible.

_15 March 1917_

_Today, on the Ides of March, I received this journal from my husband. Such a kind and loving soul is he, though I have no earthly idea what to place within its pages. He says I should write the next great novel, but I believe myself incapable._

_I suppose, regardless, I could use this to convey thoughts and feelings, a diary of sorts. I never have been reliable in keeping a diary, but perhaps this time is different. Imbued with the love my husband holds for me, perhaps I will form magical words and scenes of daring._

_One could certainly try._

_K.S._

She nearly dropped the book when she saw the initials: _K.S._

Kathryn Solo, wife to Benjamin Solo? 

And the ‘B’ must be for ‘Benjamin.’

Rey turned the page and continued to read. The contents enthralled, though perhaps to the normal person, they were entirely mundane. Kathryn Solo did in fact weave wonderful little stories within the pages, as well as kept a diary. She spoke often of her worry that her beloved husband would be drafted to go to war in Europe. She wrote of all of the horror stories she had heard of poison air and the state of trenches. 

To cope with her worry, Kathryn had written a gut wrenching little story of a knight forced to leave his lady love to go into battle. But he returned at the end, though the sadness throughout was unbearable, even for Rey. As if she herself had had to see the man she loved off to war. 

There were days where Kathryn didn’t write. In fact, there were sometimes months between entries. It seemed her worst fears had been realized, and her husband had gone off to war, leaving Kathryn alone in their house. 

The San Tekka house. 

What Kathryn did during the period her husband was away, Rey didn’t know. The next entry picked up on November 11, 1918. 

Armistice Day. The day a ceasefire had been ordered. The unofficial end of World War I. She wrote of her joy, hoping her husband would return home to her soon. 

Indeed, another couple of months passed, and the next entry was a simple sentence. 

_He is home alive_. 

Another couple of months passed, and she wrote about a trip to the doctor confirming what she already suspected: she was pregnant. Ben, according to Kathryn, thrilled at the news. They began to put together a nursery in one of the rooms upstairs. 

Kathryn wrote a bit about hints of problems her husband faced. 

_Shell shock_ , she had written. He woke screaming in the night, calling out to his comrades. At times, they would be eating dinner and he would disappear. Not literally, no, but stare off, looking at nothing, but clearly remembering something. Rey could feel the ache in her heart as if Kathryn’s pain was her own. 

Disappointment hit when Rey saw she neared the end of the journal. Kathryn had written a few other short stories, centered around a child. His name was Alexander. 

The last thing written in the diary was a short entry. 

_9 May 1919_

_Alexander Anakin Solo has joined us on this mortal plane, no longer on the ethereal and in my dreams. God has kept him safe._

_He is so beautiful. Just like his father._

Wetness slid down Rey’s cheek. Unbeknownst to her, she’d begun to cry. She furiously swiped the droplets away, and closed the journal. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

Rey jumped, nearly coming out of her skin. She had been so engrossed in the diary, Rey had failed to hear the chime of the back door opening. 

Mr. Solo. 

Immediately, her heart began to race as she scrambled up from the chair. Her hands shot behind her back, hoping to hide the book. 

“Oh, Mr. Solo, I didn’t hear you come in…” 

Rey had never seen him so furious. Thunder rolled in his eyes, his shoulders tense. His large hands clenched into fists at his sides. Rey never once had been afraid of Mr. Solo. Now, though? He looked damn near monstrous, despite the new tweed jacket he’d worn today. 

“Miss Niima,” he hissed through clenched teeth. A muscle worked in his jaw furiously, and Rey found herself worried he might break his teeth from the stress. “How many times have I told you these books are off limits?” 

Rey swallowed thickly, hands shaking slightly. “I-I am… I am so sorry, Mr. Solo, I--” 

“Some of these are my own personal books, Miss Niima. Part of a _private_ collection. Books I would rather not have inexperienced hands touching.”

Despite the twinge of fear, anger flared in her chest. A tiny flame, but there, sparking. 

“Mr. Solo, you know full well my qualifications,” she said, trying to keep the venom from her voice. Rey felt it would be misplaced in this moment, not wanting to poke the lion. “I have a degree in archival work. I’ve handled manuscripts hundreds of years older than any of these books. I know what I’m doing. But, then again, I’m just idiotic Rey Niima, who can’t do a Goddamn thing right to make her boss happy.” 

Surprised widened Mr. Solo’s eyes, taking the edge off of the ire. 

“Miss Niima, I have never believed you idiotic--”

“That’s a horrible fucking lie,” Rey interrupted, no longer capable of keeping the derision from her tone. “Since the day I interviewed, you’ve shown nothing but contempt in the work that I do. Never once have you complimented anything I have done. I honestly don’t know why you bothered hiring me in the first place. If I am so odious to you.” 

Rey stalked past Mr. Solo, purposefully nudging her shoulder against his bicep, since that was the only thing she could reach. 

“Miss Niima…” 

She could hear his heavy footfalls behind her, following her back to the front. Kathryn’s diary still clutched in her hand, she approached her stool and angrily climbed up on it. As angrily as one could do such a thing. Rey set the journal near the register and crossed her arms beneath her breasts, staring firmly at the front door of the shop, willing a customer to appear so they didn’t have to continue this argument. 

“Surely you can’t believe I think you incompetent,” Mr. Solo huffed, coming to a stop at his open office doorway. 

“I don’t believe, I _know_ ,” Rey retorted. 

“If I truly thought of you as such, then I wouldn’t have hired you in the first place.” His voice seemed less murderous, but still deep, harsh. 

“Then why _did_ you hire me? You haven’t treated me like a valued employee in the year I’ve been here. That’s for damn sure. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve talked myself out of quitting.” 

Rey couldn’t stand to look back at him, but she could feel the stunned silence settling around them. 

“I--I guess I haven’t been exactly a--a caring boss…” 

Rey snorted, shaking her head. “I have come to the conclusion that _this_ is who you are. A bitter old soul who wants to make everyone else around him as miserable as he is.” 

That’s not fair. Even if she felt entitled to make the dig after a year of dealing with his antagonism, it still was a low blow. 

The quiet stretched, long enough to the point where Rey finally looked back at him, thinking that he had retreated into his office. But Mr. Solo still stood there, his face an unreadable mask. 

“I don’t know anything about you,” Rey continued, her voice softening. “Most coworkers know something about each other. You know, all that team bonding crap. But after a year, I know _very_ little of who Ben Solo is.” 

Mr. Solo’s wide chest rose and fell with his breaths, his gaze rooted to the floor. Rey could practically see the cogs turning. With not a word, he stepped forward, slowly, and held out his hand. 

“Please hand the book over.” 

That’s all he had to say? Asking for his book back? 

Rey hesitated, but picked the book up and placed it delicately in Mr. Solo’s large paw. His long fingers closed just as delicately around it. As if by some instinct, Mr. Solo brought the book to his chest, holding it closely against his heart, as if it were the most precious thing to him. 

He didn’t say anything else. Mr. Solo turned and disappeared into the back corner, no doubt to replace the book where Rey found it. When he returned to the front, he walked into his office and closed the door until just a slim space remained open. 

So that was it? No apologies? Just nothing? 

Rey huffed and turned to face forward on the stool again. 

Despite the enjoyment she’d gotten from reading Kathryn’s diary, it hit Rey that she was still nowhere near confirming or debunking her theory about Mr. Solo. It hadn’t been lost on her, the way in which he treated the book, how he held it close to his heart. 

Glancing back at the door, she had a feeling Mr. Solo wouldn’t come out anytime soon. Not while she was here. Reaching down, she grabbed her shoulder bag and pulled out the copies of the documents Finn had found at the library. She spent the rest of the morning before lunch looking over them, piecing together a timeline of when the Solo couple had lived in the house. Finn couldn’t find any more records about the Solos after 1919, so Rey had no idea what had befallen Kathryn, Ben, and Alexander Solo. 

Based on the documents, Rey was able to sketch out a rough family tree. 

**Anakin Skywalker ----- Padme Amidala**

**|**

**Han Solo ----- Leia Skywalker**

**|**

**Benjamin Solo ----- Kathryn Randall**

**|**

**Alexander Solo**

When Rey discovered the name Padme Amidala, she should have felt shocked. Interesting that her boss had named the store, Padme, citing his grandmother as inspiration for the moniker. Yet another piece of the puzzle that could lead to the answer she sought. 

A few other notes she had made included Benjamin Solo’s birthdate (19 November 1886), Kathryn’s birthday (4 April 1892), and, of course, she knew little Alexander’s birthdate (9 May 1919).

Maybe if she went back to the library and did some more digging, she would be able to find out what happened to the Solo family? Of course, given the time period, there was most likely no one alive who had known the Solos. 

After lunch, Rey couldn’t think much of anything other than the diary. 

There was something about it. Something that seemed so familiar. Like she’d seen it before. The appearance of it, the worn leather, the words within, the inscription at the front from a lover to his beloved… Perhaps she was projecting? Kathryn Solo had looked remarkably like her… maybe she’d grown so attached to the words in such a short time, thinking they could have been hers simply because she looked like the original writer? 

That was a crazy thought. About as crazy, or crazier, than Mr. Solo being an immortal. 

Setting aside thoughts of the diary, Rey spent the afternoon working through some of the paperwork she was responsible for. Mr. Solo handled the majority of the business end of things, but she prepared reports and such to make it easier for him to do what he needed to do. Pulling out the written ledger he liked to keep as well as the electronic version, Rey worked through the most recent pages, compiling sales information and such.

When she couldn’t remember a step in the procedure for vendor payouts, she turned to the back of the front cover of the ledger to Mr. Solo’s written instructions. 

Rey froze. 

The loops and whorls and straight lines of Mr. Solo’s handwriting appeared damn near close to the inscription in Kathryn’s diary. Rey’s heart thudded. She _knew_ there had been something familiar about the writing. Glancing over her shoulder, Rey looked to the door as if willing herself to see through it. Jaw set, knowing she stepped on the proverbial thin ice with Mr. Solo, she tip-toed past his office, and went to retrieve the diary. 

When Rey looked up to where she had found it the first time, she half expected to not see the leather book there. However, Mr. Solo must have not been too upset about her seeing the diary, because he put it back right where she found it. Maybe he thought he’d scared her away for good this time. 

Fat chance.

Looking back over her shoulder to make sure Mr. Solo didn’t lurk behind her, Rey quickly clambered up the ladder and grabbed the book, then quietly stepped back to the front desk. She opened the diary, and set it side-by-side with Mr. Solo’s instructions. Thinking quickly, she nabbed her phone from her bag and snapped a handful of pictures. Rey then hurried back to replace the book where she’d found it again, and returned to her work. 

~*~

Closing time ended up being a very awkward affair. Mr. Solo came out of his office with his things, muttered a ‘good bye’ to Rey, then hustled out the back door. No offer to help close, no apologies, nothing.

Rey shouldn’t be surprised. 

After completing closing tasks as quickly and efficiently as she could, Rey hopped in her car and headed back to the library. She commandeered a computer far away from anyone else, and logged in using her library card information. After navigating around a bit, Rey finally found the database for the town archives. There were thousands of newspapers, property titles, property lines information, and anything else one could imagine. 

Fingers flew across the keyboard as she typed in ‘Kathryn Randall’ into the search bar. The results included the information Finn had found the previous evening, as well as an earlier census that included the name of Kathryn’s parents, Edward and Rachel, and her twin sister, Emily. 

Rey’s heart sank when she saw a death certificate. Her hands shook as she moused over the document to bring up the full image. Kathryn Solo died in May 1919, having caught Spanish flu. Alexander Solo, born 9 May 1919, died two days before his mother, also presumably having contracted Spanish flu. 

Tears sprung to Rey’s eyes. Why she felt this overwhelming sense of anguish, she couldn’t explain. It wasn’t as though she had known Kathryn personally. And yet since she discovered Kathryn’s belongings in the attic of the San Tekka house, she couldn’t help but feel a strange kinship to her that extended past the fact that Rey looked like Kathryn. 

Rey clicked print on several of the documents, then completed a search for ‘Benjamin Solo.’ The results she received were from the 1910s and more recent.

Curiously, there were newspaper articles about Benjamin Solo of the 1910s. What did not surprise Rey were the articles about him and a few other men being local war heroes. What did surprise her were the half dozen articles about Benjamin Solo going missing in the late summer of 1919. According to reports, he had vanished without a trace. In fact, years later, they finally declared him dead. There was a death certificate, though the cause of death had been left blank. 

Rey made sure to print the newspaper articles as well. 

Glancing at the computer’s clock, she noticed that it would soon be time for the librarians to run her out for closing. She would have to search other names another time. Rey was curious to know what happened to Emily. Since poor Kathryn passed and poor Alexander passed, perhaps Rey was distantly related to Emily Randall? Maybe that would explain the resemblance she had? 

Gathering all of her papers, Rey shoved them into the folder she had started, and headed for her car. When she arrived home, it was to the smell of something delicious. Finn, bless his heart, had cooked dinner. 

“Hey, you’re finally home! I thought I was going to have to call the station to have someone go looking for you,” Finn greeted from his perch by the stove. 

“Yeah, sorry, I stopped at the library again,” Rey replied sheepishly, setting her bag down on the counter. 

“Really? Back on that again?” Finn asked, before donning oven mitts to drain the pasta for what Rey assumed was Finn’s famous chicken parmesan. 

“Yeah. Will you humor me and listen to new developments? After supper, of course. When I’m done I know I will look like Charlie Day in that one meme, but I need to talk it out with someone.”

Finn, not turning from his task once, nodded. “Sure, I’ll listen.”

Bless Finn, but he did. After Rey cleaned up the dishes, which she had insisted upon, she sat him down at the dining room table -- more room, of course -- and began with what she had found today in Kathryn’s diary. Even Finn admitted that her boss’ handwriting looked very much like the handwriting from ‘B’ in Kathryn Solo’s diary. And why would he have such a book in the first place? Kathryn died, as did Alexander, and unless Benjamin Solo the original ran away and ended up starting another family, it wouldn’t quite explain where _this_ Benjamin Solo came from. 

By the time Rey had finished catching Finn up on her conjectures, he looked just as confused as Rey felt. 

“Okay, I won’t lie and say this all doesn’t look suspicious. Because… when you lay it all out like you have, it-- it’s pretty compelling. Down to the mole placement, the handwriting, the miraculous healing cut…“ Finn paused. “There’s only one way you’re going to find out for sure. If you really wanna know.” 

“What way is that?” Rey asked. 

“… You’re going to have to run the guy over with your car and see if he gets back up.”

Any other time, Rey might have hit him on the shoulder and fussed him out for making such a horrible joke. And he did mean it as a joke, she knew. But she also couldn’t help but consider it. 

“Rey!” Finn exclaimed when Rey didn’t immediately shoot the idea down. 

“What? I’m not going to do anything of the sort!” 

Finn glared. 

“Finn, I promise you, I will not run my boss over with my car.”

Finn’s gaze didn’t waver once. 

That night as Rey prepared for bed, she had mostly talked herself out of potentially committing homicide for the sake of finding out whether her boss couldn’t die. She wondered what would happen if she just straight up confronted him with the evidence? Would he fire her? Would he call the police on her to take her to a mental institution? Would he reveal that he indeed was immortal and then kill her because she can’t know his secret? 

Tucking herself under the covers, Rey settled in. 

Rey considered herself a very logical, intelligent woman. And as much as she was stubborn, unable to drop something she sank her teeth into, she couldn’t help but wonder if it would be best for her and all parties involved to just drop the theories entirely. To put aside her research and move on with her life, content in the ignorance of not knowing for sure. 

It sounded like something Beth San Tekka would’ve advised. For Rey’s sanity, and everyone else’s. Beth had always given the best advice.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **ANOTHER ADDED WARNING --**
> 
> Very brief mention of attempted suicide in this chapter.

A couple of weeks passed without further thoughts of immortal bosses and gut wrenching journals and old photo albums. 

Rey and Mr. Solo had fallen into a kind of dance where they avoided each other at all cost, and talked to each other minimally.

By the end of the second week, Rey found that she missed the conversations they had before, even if they often devolved into criticism and ridicule. She missed the soft burr of his voice, his large looming presence, and the ridiculous tweed jackets. 

It wasn’t as if he didn’t come to work anymore. In fact, Mr. Solo spent most of the time in his office, doing his acquisitions thing or paying bills or whatever else he did to keep the shop going. 

Rey, in turn, did all of her duties as assigned, keeping to herself and helping customers. 

Finn, bless him, had noticed a difference. 

“Everything okay at work?” He asked one evening at the dinner table. She’d just made them a roast with steamed vegetables and rice. Rey had found the recipe in Beth’s collection, and it turned out a major success. 

“Yeah, why?” Rey asked around a mouthful of melt-in-your-mouth pork. 

“Because you haven’t… seemed yourself the past week or so. Is he being more of a dick than usual? Because I’ll go have a talk with him if--” 

“-- No, Finn, everything is fine. He’s not being a dick.” 

_ In fact, he’s barely talking to me at all, _ Rey thought.

“You’d tell me, right? I’m sure there’s some organization we can go to that’ll fight against shitty antique shop bosses.” 

Rey snorted, and shook her head. “Everything’s fine.”

Except, as she laid awake that night, once more unable to sleep, Rey realized everything was  _ not _ fine. Indeed, it felt as though a hole had opened in her chest and whatever was meant to fill it was missing. She didn’t know where to look to find it.

The next morning dawned too early, but Rey rolled out of bed and prepared for work just the same. She beat Mr. Solo to  _ Padme’s _ , as she had the past couple of weeks. She began her opening routine, and Mr. Solo rolled in around 9:30 a.m. He grunted in greeting, and shut himself in his office. 

Sometime before lunch, the bell rang at the back door. Rey went to peek out the peephole to see Harold swaying on his heels, waiting. She yanked open the door, a smile curling at her lips. 

“Hi, Harold. I hadn’t realized we were in for a delivery,” Rey said.

“This is impromptu. I found a couple M1903 Springfield rifles and a M1911 pistol. Both used in World War I and II. Mr. Solo was only too happy to take them off my hands,” Harold replied. 

“Great! I’ll take them and put them into inventory.” 

Harold stepped over to the back of his utility van, and pulled a couple of gun cases from the open rear door. Rey propped open the door, and trailed after him.

“Careful… they’re a bit heavy.” 

Gently, Rey took them from Harold’s hands into hers. 

“Great, I’m sure Mr. Solo will square up with you as he always does.” 

“Yep, we’ve got it worked out. Nice to see you, as always, Rey.” 

“Same here, Harold,” she smiled, and stepped back into the back hallway. Harold took out the door stop and shut the door behind her.

“Are those the guns?” 

Rey screeched and practically dropped said guns. 

“You need to wear a bell or something,” Rey exclaimed, positively annoyed. At least Mr. Solo had the decency to look sheepish. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Let me take those from you.” 

“It’s fine, I’ve got them. They're not that heavy. I’m stronger than I look.” 

“Miss Niima, perhaps I should carry them.”

Though the light in the hallway was dim, Rey’s glare still held the desired effect. Mr. Solo held up his hands, palms out in surrender, and side-stepped out of her way. 

Rey brushed past him and set the cases on the high table in the workroom. There, Mr. Solo or Rey would restore as much of an antique as they could. He had taught her much about handling old firearms, and wanted to check them herself. 

Her fingers grasped the zipper of one case, and opened it to find two M1903 Springfield rifles. She’d handled one a time or two since working at  _ Padme’s _ , and they were deceptively heavy. 

The other, smaller bag held a Colt M1911 handgun. Her fingers brushed over the barrel and the handle, before gingerly lifting it into her hand. Deftly, she pressed the magazine release button, and the cartridge slid loose into her other hand. There were no bullets in the magazine, evidenced by the brass of the magazine spring situated right at the top. This type of handgun had seen a lot of action in not just World War I and II, but also the Korean War and beyond to Vietnam. A few had also passed through the shop since she’d started working there. 

“Thank you, Miss Niima. But I must insist that I can take it from here if you would go back upfront,” Mr. Solo bid, filling the doorway with his height and the breadth of his shoulders. 

“Oh, I was-- I can do this myself, Mr. Solo. Despite contrary belief, you  _ have _ taught me a thing or two.” Rey replied, determined and irritated. 

A patronizing smile pulled at his plush lips, and if they weren’t so damn pretty and he wasn’t her boss, she would slap them right off his face. “Rey…  _ come on _ . It’s best you don’t play with the firearms, okay? Not until you have as much experience as I’ve had with them.”

“And how am I to get experience if you won’t let me handle them?” Rey asked, voice rising higher, which only seemed to worsen the condescending smile. 

“Just put the thing down, and I’ll get to it in a second.” 

What happened next occurred so quickly and so jarringly, Rey could not have processed it any faster than she had. In her frustration, hurt, and anger, Rey neglected to do a myriad of things. She was remiss in checking the chamber for an errant round, and checking whether all the safety mechanisms had been engaged. 

Her hands clenched on their own accord, and with that clench came the disengagement of the grip safety and the curl of a finger around the trigger. The Colt exploded, bullet casing ejecting from the chamber. The volume of the sound disoriented her, momentarily losing that sense. 

She all but threw the handgun to the table, and looked wildly around to see where the bullet had lodged.

To her utter and abject horror, blood bloomed at the small of Mr. Solo’s back, who had turned in that moment to step away to do what he’d planned before taking care of the weapons.

_ Rey had shot Mr. Solo in the back _ .

Her palm clamped across her mouth, panic hitting her like a freight train. She couldn’t breath, couldn’t think for a split second, couldn’t  _ see _ , before reality came rushing back. Rey rushed around the table to where Mr. Solo had frozen, no doubt in shock. 

“Oh my God, oh my God, ohmyGod,” she wailed over and over again as the blood stain grew larger. Mr. Solo collapsed to his knees, hand outstretched and braced on the opposite wall.

Rey felt numb. Her whole body went cold, and for a time she had no concept of what to do next. She saw Mr. Solo’s lips moving, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. 

“I’m… oh  _ God _ , I’m going to grab my cell to call for an ambulance…”

Finally, brain cells began kicking in, and Rey turned to dash to the front, but Mr. Solo’s hand whipped out and grasped her wrist. His grip was almost too much, too tight, clenching the delicate bones together. 

“No… No ambulance,” he gritted. Pain etched across his face, in the furrow of his brow and the way his jaw clenched. His Adam’s apple worked up and down, and his lips moved against each other as if a distraction from the pain. 

“What do you mean ‘ _ no ambulance _ ’?” Rey shouted, her voice near hysterics. “You’re going to bleed to death right here! And it’s all my fault!  _ Oh my God _ , why didn’t I listen to you? Oh God, oh God…” 

Despite the firm grip on her wrist, she buried her face in her hands, tears pouring down, soaking her shirt and his jacket sleeve. She didn’t know what else to do for him. There was nothing else  _ for _ her to do, but call an ambulance.

“R-Rey, I’m fine,” Mr. Solo stuttered. 

“You’re not fine! You got shot in the back! Probably the kidney! I’ve killed you! Let me go so I can call a Goddamn ambulance!” 

“I DON’T NEED AN AMBULANCE!” Mr. Solo bellowed. He slowly uncurled his fingers from her wrist, and set his palm flat against the floor to brace. Rey watched, not believing her eyes, as he stood, righting himself. 

A metallic  _ ping! _ hit the floor. Rey looked down in confusion, eyes frantically searching, until she saw a flattened bullet. Her mouth fell open, looking from the bullet to Mr. Solo. He rolled his shoulders, a couple of times, then cracked his back, his body no longer tense from pain and the trauma. 

With a loud whoosh of breath, Mr. Solo turned, inconceivably right as rain. As if he’d not just gotten shot in the kidney by an antique weapon.

“H-H-How…?” Rey breathed. 

Like a video being rewound, she thought of the photos, the journal, the cut that healed miraculously, of matching constellations of moles, and everything she’d gathered weeks before. “What the  _ hell _ is going on?” 

Mr. Solo couldn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he shrugged off his tweed jacket, and walked towards the front of the store. No limp, nothing. 

“Have a seat in my office, Miss Niima. I’m going to lock the front door.” 

Rey watched his retreating form, hazel eyes glued to the neat hole in the back of his shirt with the nearly perfect circular bloodstain, and the completely smooth and unmarred skin.

Where a bullet hole should be. 

_ Holy fuck _ , she felt faint. 

Forcing her legs to move, she wobbled down the hall to his office and sat in one of the antique chairs in front of his desk. Before entering, Rey had glimpsed Mr. Solo at the front door, flipping the lock and the ‘Closed’ sign. 

Dear God, was he going to kill her? 

Now that she knew something wasn’t right about him, was he going to kill her and dump her body in a ditch so she wouldn’t reveal his secret? 

Her leg began to bounce up and down on the ball of her foot, her fingers smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt. Her eyes cased his office, looking for something she could use as a weapon if need be. 

Mr. Solo came into his office and shut the door behind him. He sat heavily in his desk chair, propped his elbows on the desk, and put his head in his hands. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, words barely perceptible.

“Beg pardon?” She asked.

“I’m sorry you had to find out like this.” 

“Why are  _ you _ apologizing to  _ me _ ? I just  _ shot _ you. After ignoring your warnings. If you didn’t… didn’t just heal… you’d be dead and I’d be going to jail. So again, why are  _ you _ apologizing?” 

Mr. Solo heaved a weary sigh, and raked his large, thick fingers through his dark hair. 

“Miss Niima, I…” He trailed off, looking off towards the office door, as if the words he wanted to say would appear there. “I don’t know where to start.”

“How about at the beginning? That’s always a good place,” she replied. 

There went his fingers into his hair again, mussing the strands yet still somehow managing to look so damn good.

“Okay… sounds good enough. I was born on November 19th… 1886.”

The exact same birthdate recorded for Benjamin Solo, who had been married to Kathryn Solo. 

“You’re pulling my leg,” she blurted. 

“I wish I was,” Mr. Solo replied. 

“November 1886…” Rey repeated. The truly unbelievable part of this was the fact that Rey  _ wasn’t _ surprised.

Oh, there was no doubt she should be. By all the laws of physics and nature and science and what have you, Mr. Benjamin Solo was an anomaly that  _ should not _ exist. Yet, here he is, his body having just  _ expelled a bullet to heal itself _ . It all but confirmed the suspicions she’d been harboring for weeks.

“Yes. November 1886. My parents were Han Solo and Leia Skywalker. My grandparents were Anakin Skywalker and Padme Amidala. I fought in World War I, on the western front, in France. I was married and had a son.” Mr. Solo stuttered out, emotion choking off his words. His eyes misted over, no doubt thinking of the wife and son he’d lost. 

“I read her whole journal,” Rey admitted, her voice low. She hated how small it sounded, but admitting to having violated his privacy… she kind of disliked herself at that moment. 

“I figured,” he replied, ruefully. 

“Mr. Solo, I am… there’s nothing I can say that would make any of this right. I read your private documents, I  _ shot _ you--” 

“Miss Niima,” he interrupted, voice firm. “I think you can call me ‘Ben’ now. You’ve worked with me for a year. And, as you say, you  _ shot _ me.” 

“Right,” Rey cleared her throat. “ _ Ben _ . You should call me ‘Rey’ then.” 

“Rey,” he said, her name a whisper. The way in which he said it should not have sent a shiver down her spine. 

“Kathryn Solo was your wife. And she looked just like me.” 

Ben’s head shot up, his eyes wide. “How do you know that?” 

“Honestly, I think I deserve the right to know why you’ve never said anything to me in the year I’ve worked here before I answer your questions,” Rey shot back. 

“Yeah, because  _ that _ would have gone over well. ‘Oh, um, Miss, just so you know, you look exactly like my wife who died 80 years ago, would you like a 401k to go along with your employment package?’” Ben scoffed.

Okay, Ben did have a point. That would have gone over like a lead balloon. 

“Is that why you hired me? Because I resemble her?” 

Ben’s whiskey-brown gaze dropped to the lacquered surface of his antique desk. “Yes,” he said, this time his voice sounding small, like a child’s. “At first, that’s why. I couldn’t believe it when you walked in here… looking  _ exactly _ like her, down to the freckles across your nose. But I quickly came to realize you weren’t her. And I think-- I think I’ve been such an asshole to you because of that.” 

“That’s no excuse,” Rey replied, with only a teaspoon of venom in her voice. “But I-- I understand why you would.” 

“I thought the longer you stayed around me, maybe you would -- I don’t know -- manifest memories or something. Like maybe you were her, reincarnate. But you’re not her.” 

Why that statement cut her to the quick, Rey couldn’t explain. She rubbed absently at her sternum.

“Okay, we’re veering off. You were born in 1886. I assume you grew up in Chandrila?” 

Ben nodded. “Yeah, even went to Chandrila college, which wasn’t common. I eventually got a law degree and opened a practice. Then I met Kathryn. She…” He trailed off, chuckling. “She couldn’t stand me either at first. Guess it’s just my natural charm. I loved her immediately… and eventually, she loved me back. We married, got a house, and I was sent to war.” 

A distant look took hold at the mention of the war, like he was back in France, running through trenches, watching people he knew die in horrible ways.  _ Shell-shoc _ k _ , _ Kathryn had written in her journal. World War I had been an unprecedented engagement, with machine guns and poisonous gas and tanks… technology never before seen on the field of battle. The things these men had seen… the horrors…

“I came home after the armistice. We had a child. Alex. But…” Ben trailed off again, tears forming fully in his eyes. “… the Spanish flu hit Chandrila. And it hit hard. The three of us got sick. Kathryn… she’d just recovered from childbirth, and Alex… Alex didn’t stand a chance. I awoke from a three day fever haze to a dead wife and a dead son. I-- I lost myself that day. Became someone else. I disappeared and… and couldn’t bear to come back to Chandrila for the longest time.”

Rey could not imagine the utter devastation of such a thing. How the grief could fuck up someone’s mind, body, and soul. 

“How… How did you get to be here? A hundred years later.” Rey asked. “Are you a vampire?” 

Ben snorted. “God, no. I’m not a vampire.”

“Then…” Rey motioned for him to continue, not wanting to voice the question on her mind.

_ What  _ are _ you? _

“The story, if you can believe it, is even more fantastical than the sheer fact I’m immortal,” Ben chuckled. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Rey said with fervor. Ben nodded, and took another steadying breath.

“When I was in France, I met a British soldier. We got to be close friends in our confinement in the trenches near the Marne. It was easy to be friends with him. Reginald Tai was his name. We swapped so many stories of our homes. Especially about our wives, and what we would do when we got home.” 

This was a different side of Ben that Rey had never seen. Reminiscent, lighter, like it was okay to think about the past, rather than wallow in it. 

“Tai told me a story of this woman that lived in the woods on the outskirts of the town he lived in. Lots of talk about her being a witch, telling fortunes, granting wishes for a price, that sort of thing. He was from Glastonbury, in Somerset--” 

“-- Ah yes,” Rey interrupted with a rather nostalgic smile of her own. “Glastonbury is seen as the location of Avalon from Arthurian myth and even Celtic myth.” 

Ben nodded, smiling slightly, impressed. “Yes. Tai spoke often of tourists and thrill seekers coming to stomp around Glastonbury, looking for the secrets of Arthur and the Holy Grail and Avalon. He told me many times he didn’t much believe the pull. He lived there, grew up there, he didn’t feel anything remarkable about the place, didn’t feel anything magical. I was fascinated with his stories, because I always loved reading about Arthur and grail quests and chivalry and courtly love… Tai would just laugh and humor me with story after story. 

“Anyway, one involved this witch woman that lived on the far side of the Tor, which is the tall hill in Glastonbury. At the foot of the Tor are these copses of trees, some denser than others. Perfect for a medicine woman to set up shop in a rarely traveled area, yet those desperate enough for her services could still seek her out. This particular tale was the only instance in which Tai thought there might actually be something to this woman being a witch. On a dare, Tai and his friends set out into the trees, searching out the woman to ask for a fortune reading. They found her, and to their surprise, she was a young, beautiful woman who readily received them into her house. In turn, she told their fortunes. At the time, Tai didn’t think much of it, but as years passed and their fortunes started coming true, he wondered if there was something to the woman in the woods. No one knew her name, but they all called her Morgan le Fay, of course.” 

Rey chuckled at the appropriate name, Morgan being the “witch” of Arthurian legends. She didn’t say anything still, desperately wanting to hear the rest of this story. 

“Tai didn’t want to believe it, but the woman predicted exactly when he’d meet his wife, and even had described her looks, right down to the beauty mark on her collarbone. Tai had brushed it off as happenstance, but couldn’t help but wonder at times.” 

A darkness passed over his eyes, a sadness not quite as deep as the deaths of Ben’s wife and child, but something akin. 

“I lost Tai at the Second Battle of the Marne in summer of 1918. I watched him die right in front of me. Riddled with bullets like he was swiss cheese… I blamed myself for so long after, thinking that if I’d just been faster getting to him, he wouldn’t have died. I vowed I would find his wife, and tell her just how bravely he’d fought.” 

Rey swallowed around a thick lump forming in her throat, emotion choking her, causing hot, salty tears to prick at her eyes. This was all too much for her to hear, but she needed him to finish. 

“I couldn’t get to her before I left Europe,” Ben sighed. “We were sent to the coast after the armistice, and we left on boats back to the States. I was so relieved when I got home and there was Kathryn, looking as beautiful as the day I’d left her. Beautiful and kind and smart and funny and  _ mine _ . I knew she could see I wasn’t the same, but I tried to be the Ben I was before the war. I took up practicing law again, and then we found out she was pregnant. I thought that this was it, finally, things would be as they should. I was the happiest man alive.” 

Fat tears trailed down Ben’s cheeks and hit the leather blotter on his desk with a resounding plop. He swiped at the falling droplets with shaking fingers. 

“Anyway, within a year of returning home, I lost my wife and my son. And like I said, I lost myself. I left our house and everything to Kathryn’s sister, Emily, and I disappeared. There was no way I could stay around with their constant presence haunting me. I couldn’t look Emily in the eye. All I saw was my Kathryn. So I had to go. The only place I could think to escape to was England. To find Tai’s wife. So I booked passage on a steamship, crossed the Atlantic again, landed in Portsmouth, and made my way to Somerset. 

“Tai’s wife, Anne, still lived in Glastonbury, and I found her easily. Her and her daughter. Tai’s daughter. She’d found out she was pregnant not long after Tai had left, and never had the heart to tell him. I stayed with her for a while, helping her around the house, playing with Clara, the little girl. Anne, too, had been born and raised in Glastonbury and knew of stories of the witch at the foot of the Tor. In fact, when she’d been younger, she also approached the woman for a fortune, believing without a doubt the woman was what most claimed her to be. According to Tai, Anne had always been the less skeptical of the two.

“One morning, when my grief had gotten the better of me, I asked her to give me directions to the woman in the wood. Anne had laughed, thinking the woman long dead by then, but humored me. I set out immediately, and I found her.” 

Rey sat on the edge of the chair, her elbows now propped on the lacquered surface of Ben’s desk, utterly entranced by this story. She’d wanted answers to the mysterious photos in the attic, and now, she was getting them. Some of them. 

“She was still there, in the woods,” Ben continued after a steadying breath. “She looked exactly as Tai had described her. Which I found odd, considering it had been quite a few years since he sought her out for his fortune. She was… she was beautiful. Otherworldly beautiful. She took one look at me with these electric eyes… and it was like she  _ knew _ me. She knew me right down to my soul, the very heart of me. She talked of Kathryn, of Alexander, things she shouldn’t have known. It made me so angry at first, thinking that she was tricking me, using my pain for sport. She asked me if I wanted her to relay my fortune. I refused. I didn’t want to hear about the desolate life of loneliness ahead of me. She then said one last thing to me, ‘You’re not alone,’ then blew some sort of gold dust in my face. It knocked me out cold. 

“The next thing I knew, I woke up, covered in dirt in a shallow grave. I fought my way up through the dirt, and found myself in another part of the woods near the Tor. I climbed out of the hole and I searched and searched for the woman’s cabin, but couldn’t find it. Eventually, I wandered out of the woods and found my way back to Anne’s. I had no memory of how I got in the hole, and to this day I don’t know exactly what she did to me. But all of a sudden, I couldn’t get hurt. The smallest cuts healed within seconds. The deeper cuts took longer, but still healed quicker than normal. I… I even tried taking my own life, but the bullet I put into my brain was pushed from my skull by the healing tissue of my brain and bone and skin and hair.

“She’d done something to me, of that I’m certain. What, though, I still don’t know. So, I left Glastonbury, after repeated attempts to find her. She didn't want to be found. 

“I figured since I was in England, I would travel the whole of Europe. I started amassing parts of the collections of this shop, actually. And money. I got really good at moving money, and starting anew when it came time Ben Solo could no longer possibly be the age he looked. I know it’s dangerous to keep my name, but… it’s the only thing I feel I have left of myself. I never felt the same after the woman put me in the ground. But then again, I hadn’t been the same after the Great War. It’s strange… when I came out of that hole, it was like I was reborn.” 

A steady stream of tears had formed tracks down Rey’s cheeks. 

She had no words. None for the tale he’d just told. 

Without a thought, she reached out, covering his hands with hers where he rested them on his desk. Ben visibly jolted, but didn’t yank away. In fact, he seemed to get some sort of comfort from Rey’s touch. 

“And you eventually ended up back here. When did you come back?” Rey asked. 

“Sometime after the end of World War II. I brought my treasures with me and moved back into town, kept a low profile until… until all those I’d known had passed. There’s pluses to having studied law and keeping current on laws, so I always knew how to work the system to my advantage. I know where to obtain illegally made documents like passports and birth certificates. I’ve actually done a pretty damn good job of keeping hidden, keeping a low profile, until you came into my life.” 

The last comment wasn’t an insult. In fact, it bordered on fondness.

“I’m living in your old house,” Rey blurted out. Ben’s eyes widened, and here Rey thought she couldn’t shock him. 

“Lor gave the house to you?”

Rey nodded. “Yeah, and you know, you’ve never been personable with me, which is why I haven’t shared much about it with you. But… yes, Lor San Tekka left me the house. Ben, it’s beautiful.” 

Ben retracted his hands, scrubbing his palms down his face. He stood and began to pace. The office wasn’t huge, so he looked like a giant caged animal. 

“Why did he leave the house to you?” 

Rey shrugged loosely. “I lived there for a time. They fostered me. I kept in touch over the years as much as I could. The San Tekkas didn’t have children, and they… they said I felt like the closest thing they ever had to a child.” 

There went those big hands again, sifting and tugging at the dark, smooth strands of his long hair. 

“That’s how you know about Kathryn, isn’t it?” He finally asked. 

“Yes,” Rey replied. “I nearly forgot to clean out the attic. When I went up to check it out, I found her chest. It had her… it had her wedding dress and a photo album.” 

Ben’s head jerked towards her. 

“And you didn’t  _ tell _ me about this?” 

Rey gave him an unamused, wry look. “No. Imagine how I thought that conversation would go. ‘Oh, Mr. Solo, could you tell me why you look like this guy and I look like this girl, and, by the way, I’d like to change my tax withholding on my W-4.’”

Ben didn’t laugh. 

“But why  _ you _ ?” He asked. Though he stared at her, rather unnervingly actually, Ben wasn’t expecting her to answer. It was a question he was asking himself. 

“I’ve been wondering that myself ever since I got the call,” Rey shrugged. “How did the San Tekkas get your house?”

Ben stopped his pacing. Still poised behind the desk, Rey wished he would sit, because him looming over her was not helping her nerves.

“Beth San Tekka. Her maiden name was Randall.” 

The name clicked. “Beth was Emily’s granddaughter?”

Ben nodded.

“So… she-- she must’ve known, even when I was a child, who I looked like,” Rey mused, her mind reeling. “She must’ve known, but she never said anything. I looked like her grandmother and her great-aunt, but she never  _ said _ anything.” 

“I’ve kept tabs on the Randalls for years. No one had a child they…” He trailed off. “… no one had a child they cast off.”

And didn’t that hurt. Not that Rey hadn’t thought that exact thing her entire life. She couldn’t remember anything about her parents. Had no memories of them whatsoever. She had always tried to tell herself that they gave her up for good reason. But the older she got, the less she believed the foolish hopes of a child. 

Rey sighed. So many questions answered, yet now lots more unanswered.

The mystery of Ben Solo had been solved, though now his questions of what the witch had done to him were her questions. 

The mystery of why she looked like Kathryn Solo remained unsolved. 

It figured. 

Everyone always got the answers they sought, but not Rey. Never Rey. 

“Your secret is safe with me, Ben,” Rey declared. “No one would believe me anyway.” 

Rey stood, and opened the door to the office, pausing in the doorway. “Tomorrow, I’ll bring you her chest of things. If it’s all the same to you, could I have the rest of the afternoon?”

Ben nodded, his face back to unreadable. 

Rey gathered her things and left as quickly as she could. When she got home, she curled under the covers of her bed and didn’t leave the bedroom until the following morning. 


	5. Chapter 5

What did one do with the knowledge their boss was immortal? 

How did one move on with their life knowing such a world-shattering revelation? 

Rey had left early that day Mr. Solo--  _ Ben _ \-- had come clean about his secret. Thankfully, her “weekend” came the two days after that. During those two days, Rey barely left her room. Instead, she sat at the bay window, curled on the cushion and against the window. The photo album sat open in her lap. Despite the fact she had already memorized the contents of every single picture, Rey continued to page through the album, willing the pictures to speak to her. To  _ explain _ something, anything.

Perhaps a little part of her, the part that had believed Ben an immortal, thought he would be able to shed light on who Rey was, maybe give a hint to who her parents were. Instead, she felt more lost than ever before. 

All Rey wanted was to know her place in the world. For someone to show her where she belonged.

When Finn wasn’t off at work, he checked in on her hourly. He ducked his head into her room so many times she just left the door open. 

“Why can’t you just tell me what’s bothering you?” Finn asked on one of his visits, setting a tray of food down on one stretch of the bay windows built in seats. 

“I just can’t, Finn,” Rey sighed, remembering the promise she’d made to Ben. “I’ll be okay.” 

Rey said those exact words more than once to Finn, and each time she said them, she felt she believed them a little more. Finn, on the other hand, couldn’t hide the fact that he didn’t believe her.

While Finn was out for a shift, Rey had ventured back into the attic and lugged down Kathryn’s trunk. It hadn’t been an easy feat, but she managed. After, she climbed back up into the attic to scour for anything else that might have belonged to her or Ben.

Rey came back downstairs empty handed. The rest of the stuff in the attic had been the San Tekka’s. 

The trunk sat in Rey’s bedroom, just to the side of the door. It was as if it haunted her every moment. While she sat at the window, while she attempted to sleep at night, while she was downstairs getting something to eat or drink, while she pretended to watch a show on TV… She had already scoured every inch of the trunk, even looked for a false bottom or top. Nothing but what she already knew to be in there. 

Ben did not try to text or call her on her days off. For that she was thankful. He had to know the sort of shock it would cause. The concept was hard to process, and by no means had she finished by the time the morning came for her to return to work. 

Rey arrived at her normal time, completed her normal chores of opening the store, and took up her perch at the front desk, as she always did. 

Mr. Solo-- damn, Ben-- came through the back of the shop at his normal time. When he passed her to get into his office, he almost seemed shocked to see her there.

Rey offered the faintest of smiles, and surprisingly, Ben returned it. For a moment, Rey thought she had hallucinated it. But no, she was sure of what she had seen. Ben disappeared into his office, and when they did eventually speak, it was as if nothing had changed.

They talked shop, literally, discussing incoming orders and balancing of the ledger and more. No word was spoken about the World War I gun she’d stupidly handled and shot Ben with. No word was spoken about the revelation Ben dumped on Rey when he didn’t die from the gunshot. 

There was something off, though. Rey couldn’t put her finger on it at first. But later that afternoon, while they stood in the back workroom, Ben showing her how to properly check that a firearm was disarmed, it hit her. 

Ben was being…  _ nice _ .

At first, it made Rey kind of uncomfortable. After all, the only emotions Rey ever felt she received from Ben were indifference, tolerance, and annoyance. 

Now… now Ben actually spoke to her like the educated adult she was, and not a child. Rey nearly had a heart attack when he cracked a rather lame joke, but a joke nonetheless.

But why? Why the sudden change of heart? 

Perhaps the secret he had kept for so long weighed on him, making him bitter. Living for so long, unable to die, and not being able to share his misery.

By the time they closed the shop -- how Rey had gotten another shock when Ben  _ helped _ her -- she had come to the realization that her hypothesis must be true. Never once had he spoken about family or anything personal, but today, Ben had been full of stories. 

And Rey  _ actually _ enjoyed listening to them. 

“I will see you tomorrow, Rey,” Ben bid goodbye as they made for their respective cars.

It was then Rey remembered the trunk. It hadn’t been on her mind once since Ben had shown for work. 

“Ben.” She called to him, key poised to unlock the door of her car. 

“Yes?” Ben asked, having already gotten his own door open and his stuff through onto the passenger seat. 

“D-Do you want her trunk?” 

A familiar shadow passed behind his eyes, the one that had made a perpetual home there until recently. 

“Yes, that would-- that would be nice.” 

“If you want, you can come by the house now and… and pick it up?” 

“Oh… uh… no, I couldn’t possibly intrude…”

“How are you intruding when I’m inviting you?” Rey couldn’t help but tease. 

“Good point,” he chuckled. Honest-to-God chuckled. 

The next words from Rey’s mouth came before she could even police them, to overthink them, to keep them from issuing forth. “And you could stay for dinner? It’s my turn to cook tonight, Finn’s on a late shift anyway, and I was going to make him a plate so… there’ll be plenty if you would like to eat with me?” 

_ What in the ever loving fuck was she doing? _

This was her boss for Christ’s sake! Was it even appropriate to invite one’s boss over for dinner?

Or maybe it was? People invited their boss for dinner parties and shit, right? 

Shit, maybe it would be weird? Rey looked like his dead wife after all. 

But then, if he hadn’t wanted her around, he wouldn’t have hired her in the first place. Or he could’ve fired her at any point. 

Hell, there couldn’t possibly be a how-to manual for this situation.

“Rey, I-- I couldn’t. It’s one thing to barge in and get the trunk, it’s a whole other thing to stay for dinner,” Ben insisted, his face suspiciously red, including the tips of his ears that peeked out from his curtain of dark hair. 

_ Well, Niima, you put out the invitation. Might as well stick to your guns and see it home. _

“Again, Ben, I say that if I invite you, it’s not an intrusion. Besides, when was the last time you had a meal with someone?” 

That had to be it! Pity… Now that she knew he had no one in his life but himself and his antique shop -- well, and her -- it was  _ pity _ , because he had no friends. No one to share the burden of his secret with. No one he could afford to get close to, only to have to disappear in a few years because questions would start coming up about how he didn’t seem to age. 

Ben hesitated for a long moment, his intense whiskey brown gaze sizing her up, as if he was looking for some ulterior motive. Rey knew she had him when his normally tense shoulders relaxed just a little. 

“Okay. Sure. I’ll stay for dinner,” Ben paused, making as if to climb into his car, but stopped. “But I’m stopping for wine on the way.”

Rey laughed. “Good. I’ll have a little time to prepare.” 

~*~

The entire drive back to her house, Rey wondered what she’d been thinking. Then she reminded herself that Ben Solo was someone that needed a friend, and kindness went a long way. Zipping into the driveway, Rey hurried inside to change from her work clothes into jeans and a t-shirt, then rushed to the kitchen to begin preparation for dinner. Before inviting Ben over, Rey had already decided on making a stir fry dish, and plenty of it, in case Finn came home hungry. 

Rey pulled out a pan to place on the stove, then placed multiple cutting boards and knives on the counter to begin slicing the vegetables. The doorbell rang minutes later, and Rey walked from the kitchen and through the hallway to get to the front door. 

Ben Solo looked nervous. An emotion she had never seen on his face before. But there it was, in the pull of his brows and the way he rocked on his heels. He clutched two bottles of wine in his large hands. 

“I… I didn’t know whether you preferred red or white wine so I grabbed both.” 

Rey smiled, and stepped away, ushering him into the foyer of what was once his home. The smile faltered when another pang of guilt hit her. Should she have invited this man into the home he had shared with the woman he loved so long ago? Well, if he hadn’t wanted to drudge up old pain, he wouldn’t have accepted the invitation.

Taking heart in that, Rey closed the door and graciously took the bottles of wine.

“I’m not picky,” she assured him, which got a chuckle from him. “I was just starting to cut up the veggies. Feel free to look around if you want. I know it must be… strange to be back here.” 

Ben shrugged loosely, before pulling off his suit jacket and hanging it from the coat rack near the front door. “I thought it might be, to be honest. But now that I’m here it’s… it’s like I never left.” 

Rey watched him taking in the stained glass and the wallpaper and the staircase, an ache throbbing in her chest for him. But he didn’t look distraught, so that was a good sign. 

“Right, well… it’s weird to say ‘make yourself at home’ but… make yourself at home,” Rey laughed before going back down the hallway to continue cutting vegetables. 

A minute later, Ben came into the kitchen via the great room, apparently having already looked his fill. 

“Can I help?” Ben asked, already heading for the sink to wash his hands. Rey wanted to protest, but decided against it. 

“Sure, I would like that.” 

For the next few minutes, they stood side by side cutting vegetables and chatting about nothing in particular. It felt… oddly familiar… like they’d done this many times before. Rey brushed off the sensation, and once their mound of cut vegetables had reached its peak, she poured some oil in the pan, and some garlic along with a few other spices. While she did this, she instructed Ben on where to find the chicken in the refrigerator. He pulled out the poultry and followed her next instructions on how to prepare it for the oven to bake. 

Soon, the kitchen filled with the delicious aroma of sauteing vegetables and baked chicken. 

After Rey plated the meals and set them on the little kitchen table, Ben popped the red wine, a cabernet, expertly poured two glasses and brought them to the table as well. 

“Should we have a toast?” Ben joked, nervousness returning to his tone and his face. “Do people still do that sort of thing?”

Good Lord, how far out of touch was this man?

“Of course,” Rey chuckled, grasping the delicate stem of the wine glass and lifting it into the air. “To… To Kathryn. And Alexander.” 

Ben looked struck but grateful. He nodded. “To the bullet that lodged into my spine forcing me to share my secret. It’s… It’s more of a relief than you know.” 

Rey’s face flushed, and found herself smiling. They touched their glasses with a  _ clink! _ and sipped.

“I am still so very sorry about that,” Rey grimaced, her gaze rooted to the stir fry in her plate. “I knew better. And you did try to warn me…” 

Ben waved his hand before picking up his fork. “It’s a lucky thing I can’t die. If you were to shoot anyone, I’m glad it was me.” 

That still didn’t make it any better. But Rey supposed the more important and underlying truth in this moment was the fact that Ben admitted to being relieved he had told her his secret. Which meant that he trusted her. After a year of bickering back and forth and after shooting him, Ben Solo trusted her. 

Perhaps she’d seen him all wrong. This whole time. 

The faint tinkling of fork on Corningware filled the kitchen, as did their light conversation. He talked about his childhood and his closeness with his maternal grandparents, and she talked about her time in the foster care system. 

“I don’t want this to sound rude but… you really don’t know who your parents are?” 

Rey shrugged. “I was left at a fire station. Right here in Chandrila, actually. There was a note that called me Rey and gave my date of birth. That was it. No name of mother or father. The social worker put in charge of my case apparently gave me the last name of Niima. It was the town she’d grown up in or something. But yeah… no idea.” 

Ben looked stunned. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not,” Rey replied. “I’ve worked hard to make my own way. I’ll always be curious about who they are but I don’t feel like I  _ need _ to know.”

Ben nodded. “That’s fair. I wonder if maybe someone in the Randall family had a dark secret we didn’t know about. I kept tabs on them over the years, but that might not have meant anything.” 

Rey laughed.

“I’ve always thought about doing one of those 23andMe or AncestryDNA tests just to see where my biology came from and if I had relatives out there, but… I’ve never quite pulled the trigger.” 

Ben reached forward for the cabernet and offered to pour more for Rey, who nodded. He filled her glass, then polished off the bottle in his own. 

“You should do it. Just to see. It won’t tell you who your parents were, but, like you said, it’ll tell you where you came from biologically,” Ben said. 

“Yeah… I don’t suppose you’d want your DNA on file somewhere,” Rey snorted, picking up her glass to take a sip. They’d long since finished the stir fry, and had been chatting for some time.

“I’ve actually had it tested,” Ben said casually.

“You have?” Rey’s eyebrow rose in curiosity.

Ben nodded. “Mhm… years ago when the testing and technology first came out. I’d made a friend with a geneticist. Uh… he was the last person I told about myself actually…”

Rey waited patiently as Ben disappeared for a brief moment into a memory. 

“… anyway, I trusted him enough to test a blood sample and not exploit me and send me off for more testing. Turns out, my DNA did not show any abnormalities. It was perfectly fine.” 

Rey’s eyebrows arched higher. “You’re kidding?” 

“I wish I was…”

“Maybe it would be kind of cool to finally do,” Rey replied.

“If you want to go down that road, do 23andMe. I’ve read it’s more prolific and it’ll match you with any relatives you might have who are also in the system,” Ben suggested.

The conversation turned elsewhere. Eventually, they left the table to clean the dishes. Ben took point at the sink, and Rey loaded the dishwasher and then wiped down the pan. 

“I have Kathryn’s trunk upstairs if you want to come with me to grab it,” Rey offered once they’d gotten a plate of food for Finn together, the rest of the leftovers put away, and the kitchen back in order. 

Ben nodded, and Rey led the way from the kitchen and up the stairs. At the top, Rey continued on towards her room, but Ben paused. She turned back when she realized he wasn’t right behind her. 

“Ben, are you okay?” She asked softly. 

“Y-Yeah. I’m fine. I’ve been okay being here, but I just…” Ben trailed off, his eyes looking towards the third bedroom down the hall. Finn had chosen the second bedroom. “… that room was the nursery.”

“Oh Ben… I should’ve just brought the trunk to work. I’m so sorry…” 

“No,” Ben replied, almost vehemently, more directed at himself than her. “No,” he continued, tone softer. “This is good. I needed to do this.” 

Stiffly, he turned towards her and forced his feet forward. Rey could tell in the stilted way his long legs moved.

Rey turned and covered the last few steps to her doorway, and flicked on the light. Thankfully, she’d made her bed that morning and laundry wasn’t strewn everywhere. She stepped into the room, and turned back, pointing at the trunk just inside the door. 

“Here you go. It’s all there. The dress, the photo album… there wasn’t anything else in the attic. I checked.” 

Ben ducked his body just inside the door and looked down. 

It was then he nearly collapsed. 

Thankfully, he’d controlled his descent somewhat, because if Rey had tried to catch him, she would’ve pulled something for sure. 

Ben sank to his knees, his shoulders shaking, silent sobs wracking his body. 

Rey felt the center of her chest tug, the grief and anguish he felt tangible in the air around them. His large palms settled on the top of the trunk, and then traced his fingertips across Kathryn’s initials. Swallowing thickly, Rey knelt beside him, close but still giving him some space. 

“I’m sorry,” Ben sniffled, furiously dragging his hands across his cheeks to get rid of the evidence of his emotion. 

“Don’t apologize,” Rey all but whispered. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.” 

Ben lifted his head, a few strands of his dark hair falling across his face. Rey couldn’t help but notice how, even in his grief, he looked like a dark angel, with his delicate but sharp features and his fathomless brown eyes. She could  _ see _ the century of agony built up behind his timeless gaze, and it cracked Rey’s heart open anew. 

Suddenly, his plush pink lips were pressed against hers.

Rey stiffened. 

Realizing what he’d done and Rey’s reaction, Ben wrenched away, abject horror splashed across his features. 

“Oh-- Oh my God, Rey, I’m-- oh Jesus, that was… I’m so sorry.” 

Before Rey could say anything else, he’d stood, Kathryn’s trunk clutched in his hands, and had made it halfway down the stairs. 

Blinking, the shock finally wearing off, Rey hurried after him. 

“Ben, it’s okay… You don’t--” 

“No, it’s not okay,” he stopped at the front door, having set the trunk down to grab his jacket. “It’s… so very not okay. I’m clearly not-- not right, and…  _ fuck _ .” Ben wrenched his suit jacket on so forcefully, Rey wondered how he didn’t rip it at the seams. 

“Ben, seriously, it’s not that big of a deal--” And it surprised her just how much Rey meant that. He’d been caught up in the moment. She looked like his dead wife. He was grieving. She probably would’ve done the same thing. 

“It  _ is _ a big deal, Rey,” Ben practically hissed. “I thought after a year I had been able to separate you from Kathryn. You’re… you look so much like her but you’re  _ not _ her. She’d never take her coffee with so much sugar, it might as well just have a drop of coffee. She’d never eat a peanut butter sandwich over a priceless Persian rug. She’d never make idiotic lightsaber sounds with a Northern cavalry officer’s sword. She’d never scrunch up her face when she saw something interesting… You’re nothing like her. And I love that about you. But I  _ can’t _ get past how much I want you to  _ be _ her. And that’s not fair to you.” 

Turning, Ben unlocked and opened the front door, letting in the cool night air waft in, bringing the smell of the neighbors gardenia bushes. It seemed such a juxtaposition… the calmness of the night outside against the chaos currently inside. He bent and picked up the trunk again, already taking the steps down to the concrete sidewalk. Ben paused, his shoulders tense. 

“It would be best if you sought employment elsewhere, Miss Niima,” he spoke softly. “I’ll keep you on payroll until you find something else. Feel free to use me as a reference.”

And then Ben was gone down the sidewalk, picking his way through the dark to his car parked behind hers. 

Rey watched, speechless, as he placed his precious belonging in the trunk of his car, and then peeled out of the driveway.

Had that really just happened?

Had Ben Solo really just fired her?

That absolute, pompous, mother--

Something warm and wet hit the small patch of skin of where her chest met her neck. 

Tears. 

She’d started crying. 

Everything had happened so Goddamn fast, Rey hadn’t had the chance to rebut his claim. She hadn’t had the chance to defend her job. 

Because damn if the thought of not working with those antiques anymore made her incredibly and immeasurably sad.

Well, it was partly the antiques.

The other part was working with said absolute, pompous, asshat. 

Because that evening had offered another moment of clarity to Rey: she  _ liked _ Ben Solo. She liked Ben Solo  _ a lot _ .  _ Had _ liked Ben Solo before the revelation of his immortality and the fact his wife had looked exactly like her.

The thought of not having Ben Solo in her life, with all of his surly tweed-ness, made her unbearably morose. 

Had he really taken note of the way she took her coffee? Or the things she brought for lunch? 

Yeah… he’d really noticed all of her little idiosyncrasies. Just as she had noticed his. 

Oh God… did she  _ love _ Ben Solo? 

Surely not… she hadn’t known much about him until he’d revealed his secret, and then all of the things they’d spoken about that night…

Surely it couldn’t be love? 

Rey turned, completely in a daze, and went about her nightly routine of checking that all doors were locked and all windows too. She trudged up the stairs, not aware of evening getting into her pajamas and into bed. 

Finn wouldn’t be home for another handful of hours, and while the thought of waiting up to tell him everything appealed to her, she found that as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was exhausted. This all had taken so much out of her. Not to mention the helplessness at what to do. How to make this right. 

Turning over in her bed, she buried her face into her pillow, wondering if this revelation of how she felt about him had anything to do with the photo album and looking like his dead true love. 

But even well before the secrets began to come out, there were things she wouldn’t have admitted to until now. Things she noticed or the things she liked about him despite the fact he’d been such a shithead at times. 

Rey slept that night, but nowhere near fitfully. No dreams came, blessedly. She didn’t feel much of anything. Just numbness. And the numb thought that she’d lost something. 


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning arrived. Rey panicked for a moment, thinking that she’d forgotten to set her alarm clock the night before. She would be late for work, something that had never happened once in the year she had worked at  _ Padme’s _ . Rey would never hear the end of it from Mr. Solo.

As her eyes flew open to look over at the clock on her bedside table, the events of last night slammed back to the fore. 

Ben had  _ fired _ her. 

He could make it as painless as he wanted, offering to keep paying her until she found another job, but when it came down to it…  _ he’d fired her _ .

That bastard fired her for looking like his dead wife!

Rey threw off the covers, and cast off the numbness from the previous night to embrace the red hot anger that swelled in her gut.

There was no way she’d go down without a fight. 

Glancing over at the clock again, Rey groaned when she realized how long she’d slept in. The store had been open for a few hours now. There’s no way Ben had done everything himself. He’d relied on her for so long that he--

Rey froze in the middle of jamming on a pair of jeans. 

Ben Solo had a helluva way of showing it, but this entire year… 

Rey let out a shaky breath, collapsing onto the foot of her bed. 

… this entire year, in his own way, Ben Solo had always trusted her with his shop. 

Yes, Ben Solo was hard on her. Damn near tyrannical. But he’d grown up in the time period where tough love made you stronger. And it hit Rey then that that had been the case all along. He’d wanted to make her better at her job, because she was always capable. 

And in her heart of hearts, Rey believed it was based on her own merit and actions, not based on what her face looked like.

This realization only made her more mad. Seething, she shot to her feet again and finished dressing. She began to storm down the stairs, but remembered poor Finn and his late shift, trying to get some rest. Rey grimaced, and tip-toed the rest of the way downstairs, where she grabbed her purse and her keys, and hauled ass out of the driveway. 

~*~

When Rey arrived at  _ Padme’s _ , she did something she hadn’t done in a year. She parallel parked in a spot just outside and came in through the front. 

The bell tinkled over the door as Rey entered. Ben came out of his office, shock morphing his features when he saw her. 

“Rey… what’re you doing here?” 

“Not giving my job up without a fight,” Rey shot back. 

“It’s not negotiable… I’m letting you go, but as I said last night, I’ll keep you on the books until you find a suitable job. If applications ask why you left this job just say I had to let you go for monetary reasons, not because of job performance.” 

For the first time ever, Ben looked tired. Like the weight of his immortality had finally caught up to him. Like he didn’t know what next steps to take. For someone always so in control of himself and the things that happened around him, Rey knew it had to be killer. 

“I’m not letting you fire me,” Rey reaffirmed. 

“Uh… that’s not how firing works, Miss Niima. I’m the employer, you are my employee, I’m letting you go because I have the power to do so.”

“We’re back to Miss Niima again?” Rey grumbled, dropping her bag on the ground and propping her fists on her hips. “This is bullshit, Ben. I need you to do me a favor and think for a second. No, for a full minute, about how asinine this whole situation is.” 

Ben’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean? I’m doing this for the greater good--” 

“Again,  _ bullshit _ , Benjamin Solo. You claim to be doing this for the greater good but you didn’t even stop to think about what  _ I _ wanted.” 

“The greater good generally implies what’s best for  _ everyone _ , not just one person--” 

“You’re  _ such _ an  _ asshole _ . Again, I say to you, how do you know what’s best for the greater good when you don’t know what everyone else involved wants?”

Silence fell between them except for the rhythmic ticking of the antique cuckoo clock that should, by rights, be broken, but somehow Ben Solo had revived the damn thing. Now, it ticked between them, and Rey couldn’t help but feel the irony of it. Ben, having all the time in the world. Rey, having practically none in comparison. 

“I know you don’t want me around because I look like your dead wife. I don’t know if you remember this, but last night you gave me several reasons why I’m not her. Why can’t you focus on that? Because I actually, despite all appearances,  _ love _ this job. I’ve learned so much from you about the business and about history and how every item has a story. I don’t want to lose that for some librarian position at the university. Can we please just… can you please admit that I’m a good employee -- despite the fact I shot you -- and let me stay?”

More silence. 

Ben didn’t look away, didn’t flinch. Rey could see the thoughts and emotions flashing behind his intense gaze, and that feeling returned, the one she got sometimes where it felt like he was reading her mind, right down to her very soul.

“Please, Ben,” Rey continued, voice soft, the plea hanging between them. “I’m sorry that I’m not her. I won’t ever be her. But it’s been over a hundred years…”

Ben blinked, and blinked again, furiously fighting back the tears Rey could see were welling in his eyes. This poor man… the grief he’d faced, the loss he had… and to live forever with that grief and loss. 

“Before…” Ben began, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, and pressed on. “Before I became whatever I am, when I was more  _ human _ , I could cope better. With everything. My dad died not long after I married Kathryn, and it hurt so much but I was able to-- to move on faster. Better? Now that I’ve lived enough for 2 lifetimes, it’s like it’s harder to move on. Does that make sense?” 

Rey nodded. “Sure. And you’re still human, Ben, you’re just… just going to live a little longer than the rest of us.” 

A laugh punched from Ben’s chest.

“But I get it,” Rey continued. “We normally have a finite time on this earth. We  _ have _ to move on in order to  _ live _ . When you’ve got nothing but time… it seems the natural thing to do but to cling to what you’ve lost, because you will live on and they won’t.”

“That’s exactly it,” Ben nodded, his voice lower than she’d ever heard it before, yet somehow small too. Smaller than what should be coming from such a large man. 

“So… you’re not going to get rid of me.” 

Ben chuckled again, before pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. I guess I won’t get rid of you.” 

Rey squared her jaw. “Damn right. Now… for being such an asshat and storming out on me last night before letting me speak -- because, by the way, this is the 21st century and women can have an opinion -- I will be taking today off,  _ paid _ , and I will return tomorrow.”

“Least I can do,” Ben sighed, relenting easily. Rey grinned triumphantly. 

“Fantastic. I’ll be back tomorrow, bright and early!” Rey reached down to sling her bag across her body, and spun on her heel for the door. 

“Miss-- Rey,” Ben called out. Rey stopped, and turned. 

“I’m sorry about last night. It was… highly inappropriate of me to do what I did.” 

A pang of hurt shot through her out of nowhere. A part of her didn’t want him to apologize. The same part of her wanted him to do it again, only properly. The more rational side of her knew why he did it, and had already forgiven him. 

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” Rey replied. “You need to warn me next time so I’ll be more prepared.” 

It wasn’t until she sat in the driver’s seat of her car that she realized what she’d said. 

~*~

Everything, for the most part, returned to normal the next day when Rey arrived to open the shop and Ben came in a little while later. As he had for a few weeks before, Ben now greeted her with actual words instead of grunts. It made her smile, but only after he ducked into his office. There’s no way that he could see it. See the joy it brought her. 

A month passed, and to Rey it seemed they had put the kiss behind them. They actually discussed things in a civilized manner, likes and dislikes, and it soon became apparent to Rey that Ben had become not only her boss, but now her  _ friend _ . She would have never believed such a thing could happen a month ago, and yet there they were. 

And it felt that Ben saw her as  _ Rey _ , not Kathryn. Never once did he slip and call her by his wife’s name. Never once did he try to bring up some memory only he and Kathryn would have shared. 

She was  _ Rey _ to him, and that brought her joy. This, too, she hid from him.

One evening after work, Rey invited Ben back to the San Tekka house for dinner. Ben seemed amenable and also nervous at the prospect of Finn also being there. But that evening the three of them actually had a grand time, the happiest Rey had felt in a long time. 

She hid this fact from both Ben  _ and _ Finn. 

But, of course, nothing ever stays hidden forever. As Ben and his secret well knew. 

At work one beautiful early afternoon, Rey finished up some dusting she’d started that morning. Ben had told her yesterday he would not be in that day, as he was going out of town for a couple of antique appraisals. After tossing the cloth of the Swiffer duster in the trash, Rey started straightening items displayed on tables throughout the shop. She had become so entrenched in her mind, humming some song or other, that she didn’t hear the back door buzzer ring. 

After the persistence of the buzzer knocked her from her reverie, Rey hurried to the back door. With one glance out of the peephole, she saw it was ol’ Harold. 

“Hello, there!” Rey greeted him with a smile as she flung the door open. Rey had not seen Harold since she shot Ben with the World War I era handgun, a month and some change. “Have some acquisitions for us?” 

“Actually, no, not this time. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d come by and chat,” Harold replied with a kind smile. 

Rey stepped back and gave him room to pass her, then closed the door. 

“Can I get you anything? I think we’ve got some water and I could also brew a pot of coffee?” She offered.

“Oh, no, that’s very nice of you, but I’m good. I just came here to talk to you, actually.” 

Rey smiled, leading him back up front in case a customer wandered on. 

“Lovely! Is there something you need help with?” She asked, climbing up onto her stool. Harold sat in a wingback chair they had put just outside Ben’s office, mostly meant for Ben to sit in while they chatted.

“Actually, there’s something I can help you with,” Harold replied with an enigmatic smile she had never seen him use before. In fact, something about the smile seemed all wrong for his face. Like it wasn’t meant for his facial structure, but someone else’s. 

“Um… in what way?” Rey asked, suddenly feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. An electric charge, like static, filled the air. It felt so oppressive for a moment, like a wet blanket had descended on top of her to smother her. Rey reached for her cell phone, but immediately jerked her hand back when a zap of static electricity prickled her fingertips.

The urgent need to run filled her, but before Rey could even jump down from the stool, the atmosphere around Harold began to vibrate. It shook and writhed, making him blurry, before it seemingly folded in on itself, and suddenly, Harold wasn’t Harold anymore, but a gorgeous, otherworldly woman. 

If Rey had been anyone else, if Rey didn’t know Ben’s secret and had seen the proof of it, she would have either fainted or run screaming to the nearest mental institution. But watching poor, sweet Harold disappear to become this ethereal, gorgeous dark haired woman? It was like another day at the office. 

“Hello, Rey,” the woman greeted like they were old friends.

Not-Harold sat regally in the wingback chair like it was a throne. Slim, slender legs were crossed one knee over the other, and the woman’s arms laid relaxed on the armrests. Her dark hair was long and thick and fell well past her shoulders in beautiful waves. Her eyes were crystalline blue, and her lips were full and red. Almost like Snow White. Rey couldn’t put her finger on what made this woman seem so different.

Other than the fact she’d just transformed herself from an older man. 

“Is-- Is Harold dead?” Rey asked, loathe to know the answer. 

The woman laughed, high and musical and just as beautiful as her physical appearance. 

“Dear gods, no. I may be many things, but I am not a murderer. Harold doesn’t actually exist. I fabricated him.” 

“Does Ben know?”

The woman shook her head. “No.”

Rey swallowed, taking in this woman, trying to read her. 

“You’re that woman, aren’t you? The one that made Ben the way he is?” 

The woman nodded and grinned a wide smile, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth. 

“You are a clever one, aren’t you,” The woman said, more a statement than a question. 

“What’re you doing here? Have you come to finish the job?”

Rey’s hands shook, and she tried her best to hide the fact she was terrified. Ben didn’t know much about this woman, only knew that she’d done something to him to make him unkillable. Rey didn’t know how dangerous she was, despite her claims of not being a murderer. 

“Dear child, no, I’ve not come to hurt you. Nor have I come to hurt him. I’ve come to help, as I said.” 

But should Rey believe her? 

Rey supposed if the woman had wanted her dead, she would be by now. If the woman truly wanted Ben dead, surely she could’ve located him using whatever magic she clearly possessed.

“My name is Morgan. I have lived much of my life at the foot of that Tor in Glastonbury. I’ve entertained the local children for centuries, giving them their futures, but never had anyone come to my door searching, in agony, like Benjamin Solo.” 

Rey wondered how long Morgan had lived to this point. 

Maybe she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“Why did you make him immortal?” Where the demanding tone came from, Rey didn’t know. But she needed to know the answer. 

“So he would live long enough to meet you, of course,” Morgan replied, as if the most obvious concept in the world. 

Rey’s mouth dropped open, breath caught in her throat for a moment. 

“N-No. That’s--”

“Rey,” Morgan interrupted. “Though I wield the power of the cosmos, I am still a slave to its whim. I knew that at some point, Ben Solo would be reunited with his lost love. I knew death would not make it possible. I knew that he must live in order to find her, and she, him. The soul matched to his since the beginning of time.”

Rey blinked repeatedly as though doing so would make Morgan disappear, leaving her to chalk all of this all up to some elaborate hallucination. 

“I--” 

“It is a difficult concept to process, yes. I have lived a thousand lifetimes, and yet even I still am blinded to certain mysteries. What I do know is that throughout human history, certain souls were meant to be united with each other. You are but a mere pair in the billions of souls that have existed and will exist. Ben’s pain moved me. I could not say why him, for I have known many bereft of their mate. I had to help him. But I did not know how or when you would be reunited. So I did the only thing I thought I could, and made him immortal. Since, I have sought him out from time to time, to check on him. Harold is but one of many guises I have assumed over the centuries. But a year ago, when he began searching for a shop attendant and he found you…”

“Am…” Rey began, her voice catching on her words. She cleared her throat, and pressed on. “Am I her? Am I Kathryn?” 

“Yes and no,” Morgan replied. “You are her. She is you. You are but one of many incarnations of the soul you share. The soul within you was within her.”

“So I’m me…  _ and _ her?”

“In a way. Memories of your previous lives are locked away in the Akashic Records. You would have to be a powerful intuitive to access those memories on the astral plane. So, without them, you’re Rey. And that’s what you should remain. As crass as it is to say, Kathryn had her destined time, and now it is yours.”

“And what about Ben? Should he have not had his destined time too?” Rey asked, a bite in her tone.

Morgan looked sheepish. “Yes. Perhaps he should have. But I am only human.” 

“Are you though? Human?” 

The woman snorted. “Believe it or not… yes. I am a human with extraordinary abilities.” 

“Suppose it makes sense. Us humans sure like to play God,” Rey snapped. 

“As I have said, his suffering spoke to me. I had an immediate fondness for him. I mean… how could you not?” 

Rey did not say anything in agreement, but she knew Morgan could see right through her. 

“Hardly seems fair… destiny,” Rey swallowed, feeling hot tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “… doesn’t take into account free will. Or is that a lie too?”

“I would say that life is a balance of free will and destiny. Destiny is the destination, as the name might imply. Free will is the journey. Does not matter what choices you make, you will always wind up in the same place. For Ben and you, your souls entwined, it is your destiny to always find each other. How you get there is up to your free will. Yes, I made him immortal. But he had the choice to come back to Chandrila instead of continuing to explore the world. Free will.” 

Rey’s head spun. An immortal Ben was one thing, soulmates and reincarnated lives was another. 

“So you took pity on Ben, made him immortal so he could find his soulmate again. His soulmate being me, the reincarnation of his dead wife, who was his soulmate then.” 

Morgan nodded. “That is correct.” 

“What if I hated him? What if I couldn’t stand the sight of him? How would that work then?” Rey asked, snark dripping from every word. 

Morgan shrugged. “Then you would hate him. And you have that choice. You will always be destined to find one another, two equal parts of a whole, opposite sides of the same coin… but it is possible in some lifetimes, you never found each other. So the cycle repeats.” 

“This is just a fucking mess,” Rey sighed, resting her elbow on the nearby counter top, her forehead falling into her hand.

“Life is messy,” Morgan nodded. 

“What about you? Have you found your soulmate?”

A sadness came over Morgan, and something in Rey felt guilty for making her hurt. 

“I was not destined to have a soulmate.” 

“That can happen?” Rey asked softly.

“Sure. It’s rare, but it can. Perhaps that’s why I’ve never minded when children come to me for a fortune. I can point them where they need to go.” 

“That’s a lonely life,” Rey breathed, lifting her forehead off of her hand to show Morgan her sympathy.

“It is,” was all Morgan said. 

The tick-tock of the cuckoo clock filled the sudden silence. After a few beats, Morgan slapped her palms on her thighs and stood.

“Well, I must be going. I have given you the information you need. You have the free will to do with it what you will. I only hope that you take everything I’ve said into consideration. You have a strong soul, Miss Niima. And a strong will. Ben would be lucky to have you.” 

Morgan turned, heading for the back door.

“Wait! C-Can… can Ben ever go back to normal?” Rey asked. 

That enigmatic smile of Morgan’s returned. “Maybe.” 

And then she was gone. 

Rey sat in silence, absolutely stunned. Her mind whirled with thoughts of soulmates and immortals and destiny and free will. 

Nothing made sense, and yet everything made sense. 

For Ben, he’d been given a second chance to be with the soulmate he’d lost so suddenly. To make up for the time they might have had if the Fates hadn’t intervened. 

For Rey, having a soulmate was a chance at family, at feeling like she belonged somewhere, or with someone. She may never have had parents to love and nurture her, but she’d found a family in Finn, Rose, and Poe. And maybe she could continue to find this family in Ben. And quite possibly, if they truly were meant for each other, and to be together, two equal parts of a whole, maybe she and Ben could make a family together. The one he’d lost and the one she’d never had. 

A decision made, Rey flew from her perch on the stool and began closing the store. Ben would forgive her. He had to. Besides, the store would only be open for another forty-five minutes. So what if she closed up a bit early? 

After the closing chores were finished, Rey gathered all of her belongings in her arms and rushed to the back parking lot for her car. 

Praying there wasn’t a cop nearby, Rey peeled out of the lot and headed towards the opposite end of town, a place she was only vaguely familiar with. 

In the year she’d worked at  _ Padme’s _ , Rey had only visited Ben’s place of residence once, at his request to drop something off, and he hadn’t even invited her in. Not that, at the time, she wanted to be let in. She navigated the streets as if she’d been there a million times, and soon pulled into the driveway of a modest, one floor rancher. Built in the 1940s, the rancher had that typical cookie cutter look as all the others on the street. It was brick, with fencing, a carport for a garage, and a covered front porch. The light was on just outside the front door, as if expecting her. 

Rey left her belongings in her car and marched up the walkway, purpose in every step propelling her forward. She pulled open the screen door, then her fist rained down on the red front door with sharp knocks. 

Then she waited. 

Rey knew Ben had to be home because she had parked behind his car. He took his time to get to the door, and as she waited, Rey could feel her bravado waning. 

The door opened, and for a moment, Rey didn’t recognize Ben. He wasn’t wearing tweed or grandpa slacks or a tie. Ben had dressed in jeans and a thin sweater, and for some reason he seemed larger than before, taller. 

“Rey?” Ben asked, confused to see her standing on his doorstep. 

“Hi,” Rey replied, oh so eloquently.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, his voice lower, huskier.

“Yes.” 

Ben looked pointedly at her, waiting for her to elaborate. Then he realized he needed to be a host, and invited her in. 

A few moments later, they were settled awkwardly in his living room, which was packed with bookshelves and antique knick knacks, yet somehow, the room didn’t feel cluttered. It felt like Ben. 

“Can I get you some water?” He asked, sitting in a wing back chair. 

“No, thank you,” Rey replied from her perch on the end of his loveseat. Her hands wrung over and over in her lap, forming words in her head, but nothing seemed  _ right _ enough.

“You’re kind of scaring me,” Ben chuffed a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “Are you okay?”

“I-- I had an interesting visitor today…” 

Concern slammed across Ben’s face, and he shot up, sitting opposite Rey on the loveseat. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt?” 

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that,” Rey hurried, trying to reassure him. 

“Good,” he relaxed, though still looked on guard. 

“She came to the shop,” Rey blurted, seeing no way to sugar coat it. “The woman. The one that-- the woman that made you immortal.” 

Ben’s eyes widened, his plush lips parting in utter shock. “H-How…?”

Rey launched into the events of the afternoon, from Morgan being Harold, to soulmates, to the craziness of destiny versus free will. When she finished, the entire situation made a little more sense, but there was one truth she knew: she felt something for Ben Solo, and it didn’t have to do with past lives or destiny or magic. 

Unless emotional connections could be considered magic.

When the truth was out, Ben sat in silence. 

Rey reached for his hands, and he allowed her to take one large paw between her two.

“D-Did…” He began, clearing his throat. “Did she say how we could fix me?” 

_ We _ . Hearing that sent a thrill down Rey’s spine.

Rey shook her head. “She didn’t tell me. I asked. I asked if you’d ever be able to be normal again. And all she said was ‘maybe’.” 

Ben’s shoulders sunk again, this time in despair. 

“But hey… we’ll figure this all out, okay? I’ll help.” 

Ben’s brown gaze lifted to meet hers. “You want to help me?” 

“Of course,” Rey smiled. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Because of the way I’ve treated you?”

“We’ve talked about this. I wouldn’t say I was entirely innocent in it all myself. Water under the bridge. Even though you did try to fire me…” Rey teased.

Ben snorted, turning his hand over, their palms sliding together. “I am sorry about that.”

“I told you. Water under the bridge,” Rey replied. “But there is something you can do to make up for it.” 

Ben’s small smile grew, revealing the most adorable dimples in his cheeks and his white, slightly crooked teeth. “What can I do?” 

“You can kiss me properly this time. Not that half-assed kiss you gave me weeks ago.” 

And then, Ben’s lips were on hers and it was everything she’d dreamed of and more. Rey leaned into the kiss, grasping his hand for dear life as if he’d disappear. He parted his lips and teased her own open, deepening the kiss. She moaned softly when his warm tongue met hers, and that was it. 

That was all it took for Rey to melt. And to feel like she’d found her belonging.

~*~

_ One Month Later… _

“Rey, can you help me carry this armoire in?” 

“Sure, babe! It’s too bad you didn’t get super strength with immortality,” Rey joked as she ambled out the back door to help Ben carry the antique inside. As far as armoires go, this one was fairly small. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Ben joked, having lowered the armoire to the ground from the bed of the pickup truck he’d purchased a few weeks ago. Since they’d lost Harold, Ben had been working overtime on acquisitions. 

“Okay, I’ll grab this side,” Rey said. As she rounded the side of the armoire, Ben grasped her arm gently, stopping her long enough to press a sweet kiss to her lips. Even after a month, the simple contact made her cheeks flush and her heart speed up. “You were gone an hour, Ben.” 

“I know. And it was still too long,” Ben replied simply. 

They managed to get the armoire inside into the work room so Ben could examine it a bit closer for any touch ups he’d need to complete. Reaching for a drawer, Ben wrapped his hand around the handle, and pulled. 

“Ow! Shit!” He jerked his hand back, little slivers of wood jutted up from his palm. “Well, don’t touch the wooden handles, love. I’ll need to sand them down.” 

“I’ll get the tweezers,” Rey said, crossing the room to get the first aid kit. 

“Don’t worry about it. They’ll get pushed out of my skin soon and I’ll be fine,” Ben said. 

A minute later, after Ben looked a little closer at the antique, Rey grabbed Ben’s hand. 

“Ben, the splinters are still there.” 

“What?” Ben looked down, clearly not believing her. 

The splinters were still jammed firmly into the meat of Ben’s palm. 

Their gazes lifted simultaneously and met over their touching hands. 

“Am I…?

Rey grinned. “I think so.” 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my best with your prompt, and I hope I did it justice!
> 
> <3 Jenn


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